i; 


1 


1 


A-CONAN-DOYLE 


RODNEY  STONE 


BY  A.  CONAN   DOYLE. 


The  Exploits  of  Brigadier 
Gerard. 

Illustrated,     izmo.    Cloth,  $1.50. 

"The  Brigadier  is  brave,  resolute,  amorous,  loyal, 
chivalrous  ;  never  was  a  foe  more  ardent  in  battle,  more 
clement  in  victory,  or  more  ready  at  need.  .  .  .  Gallant- 
ry, humor,  martial  gayety,  moving  incident,  make  up  a 
really  delightful  book." — London  Times. 

"  May  ba  set  down  without  reservation  as  the  most 
thoroughly  enjoyable  book  that  Dr.  Doyle  has  ever  pub- 
lished."— Boston  Beacon. 

The  Stark  Munro  Letters. 

Illustrated.     121110.    Cloth,  $1.50. 

"Dr.  Doyle's  'The  Stark  Munro  Letters'  more  than 
sustains  his  enviable  reputation.  They  are  positively  mag- 
netic, and  are  written  with  that  combined  force  and  grace 
for  which  the  author's  style  is  known." — Boston  Beacon. 

"  Its  reading  will  be  an  epoch-making  event  in  many 
a  life." — Philadelpltia  Evening  Telegraph. 

Round  the  Red  Lamp. 

iamo.    Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Too  much  can  not  be  said  of  these  strong  produc- 
tions, that,  to  read,  keep  one's  heart  leaping  to  the  throat 
and  the  mind  in  a  tumult  of  anticipation  to  the  end.  .  .  . 
No  series  of  short  stories  in  modern  literature  can  ap- 
proach them."—/iart/ord  Times. 

"If  Dr.  A.  Conan  Doyle  has  not  already  placed  him- 
self in  the  front  rank  of  living  writers  by  '  The  Refugees ' 
and  other  of  his  larger  stories,  he  would  surely  do  so  by 
these  fifteen  short  tales." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  Co.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


Down  we  thundered  together. 


(See  page  149.) 


RODNEY    STONE 


BY 

A.   CONAN   DOYLE 

AUTHOR    OF    ROUND    THE    RED    LAMP,    THE    STARK    MUNRO    LETTERS, 
THE    EXPLOITS    OF    BRIGADIER    GERARD,    ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1896 


COPYRIGHT,  1896, 
BY  A.  CONAN   DOYLE. 


All  rights  reserved. 


Coll«B« 
Library 


PREFACE. 


AMONG  the  books  to  which  I  am  indebted 
for  my  material  in  my  endeavour  to  draw  various 
phases  of  life  and  character  in  England  at  the 
beginning  of  the  century  I  would  particularly 
mention  Ashton's  Dawn  of  the  Nineteenth  Cen- 
tury, Fitzgerald's  Life  and  Times  of  George  IV, 
Gronow's  Reminiscences,  Jesse's  Life  of  Brum- 
mel,  Boxiana,  Pugilistica,  Harper's  Brighton 
Road,  Robinson's  Last  Earls  of  Barrymore  and 
Old  Q,  Rice's  History  of  the  Turf,  Tristram's 
Coaching  Days,  James's  Naval  History,  Clark 
Russell's  Collingwood,  and  Nelson. 

I  am  also  much  indebted  to  my  friends  Mr.  J. 
C.  Parkinson  and  Robert  Barr  for  information 
upon  the  subject  of  the  ring. 

A.  CONAN  DOYLE. 

HASLEMERE,  September  i,  1896. 


1222819 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.— FRIAR'S  OAK i 

II. — THE  WALKER  OF  CLIFFE  ROYAL     ....      20 

III. — THE  PLAY  ACTRESS   OF   ANSTEY   CROSS    ...         36 

IV. — THE  PEACE  OF  AMIENS 55 

V. — BUCK  TREGELLIS 72 

VI. — THE  FIRST  JOURNEY         ...        .        .        .96 

VII. — THE  HOPE  OF  ENGLAND no 

VIII.— THE  BRIGHTON  ROAD 136 

IX.— WATIER'S 153 

X. — THE  MEN   OF   THE   RING 172 

XI. — THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  COACH   HOUSE   .          .          .          .203 

XII. — THE  COFFEE  ROOM  OF  FLADONG'S  .  .  .  .228 

XIII. — LORD  NELSON 241 

XIV.— ON  THE  ROAD 256 

XV. — FOUL  PLAY 278 

XVI. — CRAWLEY  DOWNS 287 

XVII, — THE  RINGSIDE 306 

XVIII. — THE  SMITH'S  LAST  BATTLE 325 

XIX. — CLIFFE  ROYAL 349 

XX. — LORD  AVON 363 

XXI. — THE  VALET'S  STORY 379 

XXII.— THE  END 396 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


FACING 
PAGE 


Down  we  thundered  together  ....         Frontispiece 

I  saw  him  look  hard  at  his  antagonist 18 

My  word,  how  he  rated  us  ! 38 

"  I  find  him  very  passable,  Mary  " 81 

"  Lost  like  the  devil !  "  he  snapped 169 

Jim  had  appeared  in  the  ring 213 

"  She  must  and  she  shall  be  ready  !  "  cried  Nelson       .        .  247 

A  lane  was  formed  to  admit  us 278 

Sir  Lothian's  hollow  cheeks  grew  white  with  passion    .        .  300 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  hurt  you  much  " 347 

A  woman  stood  beside  him 356 

Lord  Avon  staggered  forward 367 


RODNEY   STONE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

FRIAR'S  OAK. 

ON  this,  the  ist  of  January,  of  the  year  1851, 
the  nineteenth  century  has  reached  its  midway 
term,  and  many  of  us  who  shared  its  youth  have 
already  warnings  which  tell  us  that  it  has  out- 
worn us.  We  put  our  grizzled  heads  together, 
we  older  ones,  and  we  talk  of  the  great  days  that 
we  have  known,  but  we  find  that  when  it  is  with 
our  children  that  we  talk  it  is  a  hard  matter  to 
make  them  understand.  We  and  our  fathers  be- 
fore us  lived  much  the  same  life,  but  they  with 
their  railway  trains  and  their  steamboats  belong 
to  a  different  age.  It  is  true  that  we  can  put  his- 
tory books  into  their  hands,  and  they  can  read 
from  them  of  our  weary  struggle  of  two  and 
twenty  years  with  that  great  and  evil  man.  They 
can  learn  how  freedom  fled  from  the  whole  broad 
continent,  and  how  Nelson's  blood  was  shed,  and 

Pitt's  noble  heart  was  broken  in  striving  that  she 

i 


2  RODNEY  STONE. 

should  not  pass  us  forever  to  take  refuge  with 
our  brothers  across  the  Atlantic.  All  this  they 
can  read,  with  the  date  of  this  treaty  or  that  bat- 
tle, but  I  do  not  know  where  they  are  to  read  of 
ourselves,  of  the  folk  we  were,  and  the  lives  we 
led,  and  how  the  world  seemed  to  our  eyes  when 
they  were  young  as  theirs  are  now. 

If  I  take  up  my  pen  to  tell  you  about  this  you 
must  not  look  for  any  story  at  my  hands,  for  I 
was  only  in  my  earliest  manhood  when  these 
things  befell,  and  although  I  saw  something  of 
the  stories  of  other  lives  I  could  scarce  claim  one 
of  my  own.  It  is  the  love  of  a  woman  that  makes 
the  story  of  a  man,  and  many  a  year  was  to  pass 
before  I  first  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  mother 
of  my  children.  To  us  it  seems  but  an  affair  of 
yesterday,  and  yet  those  children  can  now  reach 
the  plums  in  the  garden  while  we  are  seeking 
for  a  ladder,  and  where  we  once  walked  with 
their  little  hands  in  ours  we  are  glad  now  to  lean 
upon  their  arms.  But  I  shall  speak  of  a  time 
when  the  love  of  a  mother  was  the  only  love  I 
know,  and  if  you  seek  for  something  more,  then 
it  is  not  for  you  that  I  write.  But  if  you  would 
come  out  with  me  into  that  forgotten  world ;  if 
you  would  know  Boy  Jim  and  Champion  Harri- 
son ;  if  you  would  meet  my  father,  one  of  Nelson's 
own  men ;  if  you  would  catch  a  glimpse  of  that 


FRIAR'S   OAK.  3 

great  seaman  himself,  and  of  George,  afterward 
the  unworthy  King  of  England  ;  if,  above  all,  you 
would  see  my  famous  uncle,  Sir  Charles  Tregellis, 
the  king  of  the  Bucks,  and  the  great  fighting  men 
whose  names  are  still  household  words  among 
you,  then  give  me  your  hand  and  let  us  start. 

But  I  must  warn  you  also  that  if  you  think 
that  you  will  find  much  that  is  of  interest  in  your 
guide  you  are  destined  to  disappointment.  When 
I  look  over  my  book  shelves  I  can  see  that  it  is 
only  the  wise  and  witty  and  valiant  who  have 
ventured  to  write  down  their  experiences.  For 
my  own  part,  if  I  were  only  assured  that  I  was  as 
clever  and  brave  as  the  average  man  about  me 
I  should  be  well  satisfied.  Men  of  their  hands 
have  thought  well  of  my  brains,  and  men  of 
brains  of  my  hands,  and  that  is  the  best  that  I 
can  say  for  myself.  Save  in  the  one  matter  of 
having  an  inborn  readiness  for  music,  so  that  the 
mastery  of  any  instrument  comes  very  easily  and 
naturally  to  me,  I  can  not  recall  any  single  ad- 
vantage which  I  can  boast  over  my  fellows.  In 
all  things  I  have  been  a  halfway  man,  for  I  am  of 
middle  height,  my  eyes  are  neither  blue  nor  gray, 
and  my  hair,  before  Nature  dusted  it  with  her 
powder,  was  between  flaxen  and  brown.  I  may 
perhaps  claim  this :  that  through  life  I  have  never 
felt  a  touch  of  jealousy,  as  I  have  admired  a  bet- 


4  RODNEY   STONE. 

ter  man  than  myself,  and  that  I  have  always  seen 
all  things  as  they  are,  myself  included,  which 
should  count  in  my  favour  now  that  I  sit  down 
in  my  mature  age  to  write  my  memories.  With 
your  permission,  then,  we  will  push  my  own  per- 
sonality as  far  as  possible  out  of  the  picture.  If 
you  can  conceive  me  as  a  thin  and  colourless  cord 
upon  which  my  would-be  pearls  are  strung  you 
will  be  accepting  me  upon  the  terms  which  I 
should  wish. 

Our  family,  the  Stones,  have  for  many  genera- 
tions belonged  to  the  navy,  and  it  has  been  a  cus- 
tom among  us  for  the  eldest  son  to  take  the  name 
of  his  father's  favourite  commander.  Thus  we 
can  trace  our  lineage  back  to  old  Vernon  Stone, 
who  commanded  a  high-sterned,  peak-nosed,  fifty- 
gun  ship  against  the  Dutch.  Through  Hawke 
Stone  and  Benbow  Stone  we  came  down  to  my 
father,  Anson  Stone,  who  in  his  turn  christened 
me  Rodney  at  the  parish  church  of  St.  Thomas 
at  Portsmouth  in  the  year  of  grace  1786. 

Out  of  my  window  as  I  write  I  can  see  my 
own  great  lad  in  the  garden,  and  if  I  were  to  call 
out  "  Nelson,"  you  would  see  that  I  have  been 
true  to  the  traditions  of  our  family. 

My  dear  mother,  the  best  that  ever  a  man 
had,  was  the  second  daughter  of  the  Rev.  John 
Tregellis,  vicar  of  Milton,  which  is  a  small  parish 


FRIAR'S   OAK.  5 

upon  the  borders  of  the  marshes  of  Langstone. 
She  came  of  a  poor  family,  but  one  of  some  posi- 
tion, for  her  elder  brother  was  the  famous  Sir 
Charles  Tregellis,  who,  having  inherited  the 
money  of  a  wealthy  East  Indian  merchant,  be- 
came in  time  the  talk  of  the  town  and  the  very 
particular  friend  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Of  him 
I  shall  have  more  to  say  hereafter,  but  you  will 
note  now  that  he  was  my  own  uncle  and  brother 
to  my  mother. 

I  can  remember  her  all  through  her  beautiful 
life,  for  she  was  but  a  girl  when  she  married  and 
little  more  when  I  can  first  recall  her  busy  fin- 
gers and  her  gentle  voice.  I  see  her  as  a  lovely 
woman  with  kind  dove's  eyes,  somewhat  short  of 
stature,  it  is  true,  but  carrying  herself  very  brave- 
ly. In  my  memories  of  those  days  she  is  clad 
always  in  some  purple  shimmering  stuff,  with  a 
white  kerchief  round  her  long  white  neck,  and  I 
see  her  fingers  turning  and  darting  as  she  works 
at  her  knitting.  I  see  her  again  in  her  middle 
years,  sweet  and  loving,  planning,  contriving, 
achieving,  with  the  few  shillings  a  day  of  a  lieu- 
tenant's pay,  on  which  to  support  the  cottage  at 
Friar's  Oak  and  to  keep  a  fair  face  to  the  world. 
And  now,  if  I  do  but  step  into  the  parlour  I  can 
see  her  once  more  with  over  eighty  years  of 
saintly  life  behind  her,  silver-haired,  placid-faced, 


6  RODNEY  STONE. 

with  her  dainty  ribboned  cap,  her  gold-rimmed 
glasses,  and  her  woolly  shawl  with  the  blue  bor- 
der. I  loved  her  young  and  I  love  her  old,  and 
when  she  goes  she  will  take  something  with  her 
which  nothing  in  the  world  can  ever  make  good 
to  me  again.  You  may  have  many  friends,  you 
who  read  this,  and  you  may  chance  to  marry 
more  than  once,  but  your  mother  is  your  first 
and  your  last.  Cherish  her,  then,  while  you  may, 
for  the  day  will  come  when  every  hasty  deed  or 
heedless  word  will  come  back  with  its  sting  to 
hive  in  your  own  heart. 

Such,  then,  was  my  mother,  and  as  to  my 
father,  I  can  describe  him  best  when  I  come  to 
the  time  when  he  returned  to  us  from  the  Mediter- 
ranean. During  all  my  childhood  he  was  only  a 
name  to  me,  and  a  face  in  a  miniature  which  hung 
round  my  mother's  neck.  At  first  they  told  me 
he  was  fighting  the  French,  and  then  after  some 
years  one  heard  less  about  the  French  and  more 
about  General  Buonaparte.  I  remember  the  awe 
with  which  one  day  in  Thomas  Street,  Ports- 
mouth, I  saw  a  print  of  the  great  Corsican  in  a 
bookseller's  window.  This,  then,  was  the  arch 
enemy  with  whom  my  father  spent  his  life  in  ter- 
rible and  ceaseless  contest.  To  my  childish 
imagination  it  was  a  personal  affair,  and  I  forever 
saw  my  father  and  this  clean-shaven,  thin-lipped 


FRIAR'S  OAK.  7 

man  swaying  and  reeling  in  a  deadly  year-long 
grapple.  It  was  not  until  I  went  to  the  grammar 
school  that  I  understood  how  many  other  little 
boys  there  were  whose  fathers  were  in  the  same 
case. 

Only  once  in  those  long  years  did  my  father 
return  home,  which  will  show  you  what  it  meant 
to  be  the  wife  of  a  sailor  in  those  days.  It  was 
just  after  we  had  moved  from  Portsmouth  to 
Friar's  Oak,  whither  he  came  for  a  week  before 
he  set  sail  with  Admiral  Jarvis  to  help  him  to 
turn  his  name  into  Lord  St.  Vincent.  I  remem- 
ber that  he  frightened  as  well  as  fascinated  me 
with  his  talk  of  battles,  and  I  can  recall  as  if  it 
were  yesterday  the  horror  with  which  I  gazed 
upon  a  spot  of  blood  upon  his  shirt  ruffle,  which 
had  come,  as  I  have  no  doubt,  from  a  mischance  in 
shaving.  At  the  time  I  never  questioned  that  it 
had  spurted  from  some  stricken  Frenchman  or 
Spaniard,  and  I  shrank  from  him  in  terror  when 
he  laid  his  horny  hand  upon  my  head.  My 
mother  wept  bitterly  when  he  was  gone,  but  for 
my  own  part  I  was  not  sorry  to  see  his  blue  back 
and  white  shorts  going  down  the  garden  walk, 
for  I  felt  with  the  heedless  selfishness  of  a  child 
that  we  were  closer  together,  she  and  I,  when  we 
were  alone. 

It  was  in  my  eleventh  year  that  we  moved 

2 


8  RODNEY   STONE. 

from  Portsmouth  to  Friar's  Oak,  a  little  Sussex 
village  to  the  north  of  Brighton,  which  was  rec- 
ommended to  us  by  my  uncle,  Sir  Charles  Tre- 
gellis,  one  of  whose  grand  friends,  Lord  Avon, 
had  had  his  seat  near  there.  The  reason  of  our 
moving  was  that  living  was  cheaper  in  the  coun- 
try and  that  it  was  easier  for  my  mother  to  keep 
up  the  appearance  of  a  gentlewoman  when  away 
from  the  circle  of  those  to  whom  she  could  not 
refuse  hospitality.  They  were  trying  times, 
those,  to  all  save  the  farmers,  who  made  such 
profits  that  they  could,  as  I  have  heard,  afford  to 
let  half  of  their  land  lie  fallow,  while  living  like 
gentlemen  upon  the  rest.  Wheat  was  at  1 10  shil- 
lings a  quarter,  and  the  quartern  loaf  at  one  and 
ninepence.  Even  in  the  quiet  of  the  cottage  at 
Friar's  Oak  we  could  scarce  have  lived  were  it 
not  that  in  the  blockading  squadron  in  which  my 
father  was  stationed  there  was  the  occasional 
chance  of  a  little  prize  money.  The  line-of-battle 
ships  themselves,  tacking  on  and  off  outside 
Brest,  could  earn  nothing  save  honour,  but  the 
frigates  in  attendance  made  prizes  of  many  coast- 
ers, and  these,  as  is  the  rule  of  the  service,  were 
counted  as  belonging  to  the  fleet,  and  their  prod- 
uce divided  into  head  money. 

In  this  manner  my  father  was  able  to  send 
home  enough  to  keep  the  cottage  and  to  send 


FRIAR'S   OAK.  9 

me  to  the  day  school  of  Mr.  Joshua  Allen,  where 
for  four  years  I  learned  all  that  he  had  to  teach. 
It  was  at  Allen's  school  that  I  first  knew  Jim 
Harrison — Boy  Jim,  as  he  has  always  been  called, 
— the  nephew  of  Champion  Harrison  of  the  village 
smithy.  I  can  see  him  as  he  was  at  that  time, 
with  great  floundering  half-formed  limbs  like  a 
Newfoundland  puppy,  and  a  face  that  set  every 
woman's  head  round  as  he  passed  her.  It  was  in 
those  days  that  we  began  our  life-long  friendship, 
a  friendship  which  still  in  our  waning  years  binds 
us  closely  as  two  brothers.  I  taught  him  his  ex- 
ercises, for  he  never  loved  the  sight  of  a  book, 
and  he  in  turn  made  me  box  and  wrestle,  tickle 
trout  on  the  Adur,  and  snare  rabbits  on  Ditch- 
ling  Down,  for  his  hands  were  as  active  as  his 
brain  was  slow.  He  was  two  years  my  elder, 
however,  so  that  long  before  I  had  finished  my 
schooling  he  had  gone  to  help  his  uncle  at  the 
smithy. 

Friar's  Oak  is  in  a  dip  of  the  Downs,  and  the 
forty-third  milestone  between  London  and 
Brighton  lies  on  the  skirt  of  the  village.  It  is 
but  a  small  place,  with  an  ivied  church,  a  fine 
vicarage,  and  a  row  of  red  brick  cottages  each 
in  its  own  little  garden.  At  one  end  was  the 
forge  of  Champion  Harrison,  with  his  house  Be- 
hind it,  and  at  the  other  was  Mr.  Allen's  school. 


I0  RODNEY   STONE. 

The  yellow  cottage,  standing  back  a  little  from 
the  road,  with  its  upper  story  bulging  forward 
and  a  criss-cross  of  black  woodwork  let  into  the 
plaster,  is  the  one  in  which  we  lived.  I  do  not 
know  if  it  is  still  standing,  but  I  should  think  it 
likely,  for  it  was  not  a  place  much  given  to 
change. 

Just  opposite  to  us,  at  the  other  side  of  the 
broad  white  road,  was  the  Friar's  Oak  inn,  which 
was  kept  in  my  day  by  John  Cummings,  a  man 
of  excellent  repute  at  home,  but  liable  to  strange 
outbreaks  when  he  travelled,  as  will  afterward 
become  apparent.  Though  there  was  a  stream 
of  traffic  upon  the  road,  the  coaches  from 
Brighton  were  too  fresh  to  stop,  and  those  from 
London  too  eager  to  reach  their  journey's  end, 
so  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  an  occasional  broken 
trace  or  loosened  wheel  the  landlord  would  have 
had  only  the  thirsty  throats  of  the  village  to  trust 
to.  Those  were  the  days  when  the  Prince  of 
Wales  had  just  built  his  singular  palace  by  the 
sea,  and  so  from  May  to  September,  which  was 
the  Brighton  season,  there  was  never  a  day  that 
from  one  hundred  to  two  hundred  curricles, 
chaises,  and  phaetons  did  not  rattle  past  our 
doors.  Many  a  summer  evening  have  Boy  Jim 
and  I  lain  upon  the  grass,  watching  all  these 
grand  folk,  and  cheering  the  London  coaches  as 


FRIAR'S  OAK.  H 

they  came  roaring  through  the  dust  clouds,  lead 
ers  and  wheelers  stretched  to  their  work,  the 
bugles  screaming,  and  the  coachmen  with  their 
low-crowned,  curly  brimmed  hats,  and  their  faces 
as  scarlet  as  their  coats.  The  passengers  used  to 
laugh  when  Boy  Jim  shouted  at  them,  but  if  they 
could  have  read  his  big,  half-set  limbs  and  his 
loose  shoulders  aright,  they  would  have  looked  a 
little  harder  at  him  perhaps,  and  given  him  back 
his  cheer. 

Boy  Jim  had  never  known  a  father  or  a 
mother,  and  his  whole  life  had  been  spent  with 
his  uncle,  Champion  Harrison.  Harrison  was 
the  Friar's  Oak  blacksmith,  and  he  had  his  nick- 
name because  he  fought  Tom  Johnson  when  he 
held  the  English  belt,  and  would  most  certainly 
have  beaten  him  had  the  Bedfordshire  magis- 
trates not  appeared  to  break  up  the  fight.  For 
years  there  was  no  such  glutton  to  take  punish- 
ment, and  no  more  finishing  hitter  than  Harrison, 
though  he  was  always,  as  I  understand,  a  slow 
one  upon  his  feet.  At  last,  in  a  fight  with  Black 
Baruk,  the  Jew,  he  finished  the  battle  with  such 
a  lashing  hit  that  he  not  only  knocked  his  oppo- 
nent over  the  inner  ropes,  but  he  left  him  betwixt 
life  and  death  for  a  long  three  weeks.  During 
all  this  time  Harrison  lived  as  one  demented,  ex- 
pecting every  hour  to  feel  the  hand  of  a  Bow 


I2  RODNEY   STONE. 

Street  runner  upon  his  collar,  and  to  be  tried  for 
his  life.  This  experience,  with  the  prayers  of  his 
wife,  made  him  forswear  the  ring  forever,  and 
carry  his  great  muscles  into  the  one  trade  in 
which  they  seemed  to  give  him  an  advantage. 
There  was  a  good  business  to  be  done  at  Friar's 
Oak,  from  the  passing  traffic  and  the  Sussex 
farmers,  so  that  he  soon  became  the  richest  of  the 
villagers,  and  he  came  to  church  on  a  Sunday 
with  his  wife  and  his  nephew,  looking  as  re- 
spectable a  family  man  as  one  would  wish  to 
see. 

He  was  not  a  tall  man,  not  more  than  five  foot 
seven,  and  it  was  often  said  that  if  he  had  had  an 
extra  inch  of  reach  he  would  have  been  a  match 
for  Jackson  or  Belcher  at  their  best.  His  chest 
was  like  a  barrel,  and  his  forearms  were  the  most 
powerful  that  I  have  ever  seen,  with  deep 
grooves  between  the  smooth,  swelling  muscles, 
like  a  piece  of  water-worn  rock.  In  spite  of  his 
strength,  however,  he  was  of  a  slow,  orderly,  and 
kindly  disposition,  so  that  there  was  no  man 
more  beloved  over  the  whole  countryside.  His 
heavy,  placid,  clean-shaven  face  could  set  very 
sternly,  as  I  have  seen  upon  occasion,  but  for  me 
and  every  child  in  the  village  there  was  ever  a 
smile  upon  his  lips  and  a  greeting  in  his  eyes. 
There  was  not  a  beggar  upon  the  countryside 


FRIAR'S   OAK.  13 

who  did  not  know  that  his  heart  was  as  soft  as 
his  muscles  were  hard. 

There  was  nothing  that  he  liked  to  talk  of 
more  than  his  old  battles,  but  he  would  stop  if  he 
saw  his  little  wife  coming,  for  the  one  great 
shadow  in  her  life  was  the  ever-present  fear  that 
some  day  he  would  throw  down  sledge  and  rasp 
and  be  off  to  the  ring  once  more.  And  you  must 
be  reminded  here  once  for  all  that  that  former 
calling  of  his  was  by  no  means  at  that  time  in  the 
debased  condition  to  which  it  afterward  fell. 
Public  opinion  has  gradually  become  opposed  to 
it,  for  the  reason  that  it  came  largely  into  the 
hands  of  rogues,  and  because  it  fostered  ring-side 
ruffianism.  Even  the  honest  and  brave  pugilist 
was  found  to  draw  villainy  round  him,  just  as  the 
ctean  and  noble  racehorse  does.  For  this  reason 
the  ring  is  dying  in  England,  and  we  may  hope 
that  when  Caunt  and  Bendigo  have  passed  away 
they  may  have  none  to  succeed  them.  But  it 
was  different  in  the  days  of  which  I  speak.  Pub- 
lic opinion  was  then  largely  in  its  favour,  and 
there  were  good  reasons  why  it  should  be  so. 

It  was  a  time  of  war  when  England,  with  an 
army  and  navy  composed  only  of  those  who  vol- 
unteered to  fight  because  they  had  fighting  blood 
in  them,  had  to  encounter,  as  they  would  now 
have  to  encounter,  a  power  which  could,  by  des- 


I4  RODNEY   STONE. 

potic  law,  turn  every  citizen  into  a  soldier.  If 
the  people  had  not  been  full  of  this  lust  for  com- 
bat it  is  certain  that  England  must  have  been 
overborne.  And  it  was  thought,  and  is  on  the 
face  of  it  reasonable,  that  a  struggle  between  two 
indomitable  men,  with  thirty  thousand  to  view  it 
and  three  million  to  discuss  it,  did  help  to  set  a 
standard  of  hardihood  and  endurance.  Brutal  it 
was,  no  doubt,  and  its  brutality  is  the  end  of  it, 
but  it  is  not  so  brutal  as  war,  which  will  survive 
it.  Whether  it  is  logical  now  to  teach  the  people 
to  be  peaceful  in  an  age  when  their  very  exist- 
ence may  come  to  depend  upon  their  being  war- 
like is  a  question  for  wiser  heads  than  mine.  But 
that  was  what  we  thought  of  it  in  the  days  of 
your  grandfathers,  and  that  is  why  you  might 
find  statesmen  and  philanthropists  like  Windham, 
Fox,  and  Althorp  at  the  side  of  the  ring. 

The  mere  fact  that  solid  men  should  patronize 
it  was  enough  in  itself  to  prevent  the  villainy 
which  afterward  crept  in.  For  over  twenty 
years,  in  the  days  of  Jackson,  Brain,  Cribb,  the 
Belchers,  Pearce,  Gully,  and  the  rest,  the  leaders 
of  the  ring  were  men  whose  honesty  was  above 
suspicion,  and  those  were  just  the  twenty  years 
when  the  ring  may,  as  I  have  said,  have  served  a 
national  purpose.  You  have  heard  how  Pearce 
saved  the  Bristol  girl  from  the  burning  house, 


FRIAR'S   OAK.  15 

how  Jackson  won  the  respect  and  friendship  of 
the  best  men  of  his  age,  and  how  Gully  rose  to  a 
seat  in  the  first  reformed  Parliament.  These 
were  the  men  who  set  the  standard,  and  their 
trade  carried  with  it  this  obvious  recommenda- 
tion that  it  is  one  in  which  no  drunken  or  foul- 
living  man  could  long  succeed.  There  were 
exceptions  among  them,  no  doubt — bullies  like 
Hickman  and  brutes  like  Berks ;  in  the  main,  I 
say  again,  that  they  were  honest  men,  brave  and 
enduring  to  an  incredible  degree,  and  a  credit  to 
the  country  which  produced  them.  It  was,  as 
you  will  see,  my  fate  to  see  something  of  them, 
and  I  speak  of  what  I  know. 

In  our  own  village  I  can  assure  you  that  we 
were  very  proud  of  the  presence  of  such  a  man 
as  Champion  Harrison,  and  if  folk  stayed  at  the 
inn  they  would  walk  down  as  far  as  the  smithy, 
just  to  have  the  sight  of  him.  And  he  was  worth 
seeing,  too,  especially  on  a  winter's  night,  when 
the  red  glare  of  the  forge  would  beat  upon  his 
great  muscles  and  upon  the  proud  hawk  face  of 
Boy  Jim,  as  they  heaved  and  swayed  over  some 
glowing  plough  coulter,  framing  themselves  in 
sparks  with  every  blow.  He  would  strike  once 
with  his  thirty-pound  swing  sledge,  and  Jim 
twice  with  his  hand  hammer,  and  the  "  clunk, 
clink,  clink;  clunk,  clink,  clink!"  would  bring  me 


1 6  RODNEY   STONE. 

flying  down  the  village  street,  on  the  chance  that, 
since  they  were  both  at  the  anvil,  there  might  be 
a  place  for  me  at  the  bellows. 

Only  once  during  those  village  years  can  I 
remember  Champion  Harrison  showing  me  for 
an  instant  the  sort  of  man  that  he  had  been.  It 
chanced  one  summer  morning,  when  Boy  Jim 
and  I  were  standing  by  the  smithy  door  that 
there  came  a  private  coach  from  Brighton,  with 
its  four  fresh  horses  and  its  brasswork  shining, 
flying  along  with  such  a  merry  rattle  and  jing- 
ling that  the  champion  came  running  out  with  a 
half-fullered  shoe  in  his  tongs,  to  have  a  look  at 
it.  A  gentleman  in  a  white  coachman's  cape — a 
Corinthian,  as  we  called  him  in  those  days — was 
driving,  and  half  a  dozen  of  his  fellows,  laughing 
and  shouting,  were  on  the  top  behind  him.  It 
may  have  been  that  the  bulk  of  the  smith  caught 
his  eye,  and  that  he  acted  in  pure  wantonness,  or 
it  may  possibly  have  been  an  accident,  but  as  he 
swung  past,  the  twenty-foot  thong  of  the  driver's 
whip  hissed  round,  and  we  heard  the  sharp  snap 
of  it  across  Harrison's  leather  apron. 

"  Hullo,  master ! "  shouted  the  smith,  looking 
after  him.  "  You're  not  to  be  trusted  on  the  box 
until  you  can  handle  your  whip  better'n  that." 

"What's  that?"  cried  the  driver,  pulling  up 
his  team. 


FRIAR'S   OAK.  ij 

"  I  bid  you  have  a  care,  master,  or  there  will 
be  some  one-eyed  folk  along  the  road  you  drive." 

"Oh,  you  say  that,  do  you?"  said  the  driver, 
putting  his  whip  into  its  socket  and  pulling  off 
his  driving  gloves.  "  I'll  have  a  little  talk  with 
you,  my  fine  fellow." 

The  sporting  gentlemen  of  those  days  were 
very  fine  boxers  for  the  most  part,  for  it  was  the 
mode  to  take  a  course  of  Mendoza,  just  as  a  few 
years  afterward  there  was  no  man  about  town 
who  had  not  had  the  mufflers  on  with  Jackson. 
Knowing  their  own  prowess,  they  never  refused 
the  chance  of  a  wayside  adventure,  and  it  was 
seldom  indeed  that  the  bargee  or  the  navigator 
had  much  to  boast  of  after  a  young  blood  had 
taken  off  his  coat  to  him.  This  one  swung  him- 
self off  the  box  seat  with  the  alacrity  of  a  man 
who  has  no  doubts  about  the  upshot  of  the  quar- 
rel, and  after  hanging  his  caped  coat  upon  the 
swinglebar  he  daintily  turned  up  the  ruffled  cuffs 
of  his  white  cambric  shirt. 

"  I'll  pay  you  for  your  advice,  my  man," 
said  he. 

I  am  sure  that  the  men  upon  the  coach  knew 
who  the  burly  smith  was,  and  looked  upon  it  as 
a  prime  joke  to  see  their  companion  walk  into 
such  a  trap.  They  roared  with  delight  and  bel- 
lowed out  scraps  of  advice  to  him. 


!g  RODNEY   STONE. 

"  Knock  some  of  the  soot  off  him,  Lord  Fred- 
erick ! "  they  shouted.  "  Give  the  Johnny  Raw 
his  breakfast.  Chuck  him  in  among  his  own  cin- 
ders. Sharp's  the  word,  or  you'll  see  the  back 
of  him." 

Encouraged  by  these  cries,  the  young  aristo- 
crat advanced  upon  his  man.  The  smith  never 
moved,  but  his  mouth  set  grim  and  hard,  while 
his  tufted  brows  came  down  over  his  keen  gray 
eyes.  The  tongs  had  fallen,  and  his  hands  were 
hanging  free. 

"  Have  a  care,  master,"  said  he.  "  You'll  get 
pepper,  if  you  don't." 

Something  in  the  assured  voice,  and  some- 
thing also  in  the  quiet  pose,  warned  the  young 
lord  of  his  danger.  I  saw  him  look  hard  at  his 
antagonist,  and  as  he  did  so  his  hands  and  his  jaw 
dropped  together. 

"  My  God  !  "  he  cried.     "  It's  Jack  Harrison !  " 

"  My  name,  master." 

"  And  I  thought  you  were  some  Sussex  chaw- 
bacon  !  Why,  man,  I  haven't  seen  you  since  the 
day  you  nearly  killed  Black  Baruk,  and  cost  me 
a  cool  hundred  by  doing  it." 

How  they  roared  on  the  coach  ! 

"  Smoked  !  Smoked,  by  God  !  "  they  yelled. 
"  It's  Jack  Harrison,  the  bruiser.  Lord  Fred- 
erick was  going  to  take  on  the  ex-champion. 


I  saw  him  look  hard  at  his  antagonist. 


FRIAR'S  OAK.  19 

Give  him  one  on  the  apron,  Fred,  and  see  what 
happens." 

But  the  driver  had  already  climbed  back  into 
his  perch,  laughing  as  loudly  as  any  of  his  com- 
panions. 

"We'll  let  you  off  this  time,  Harrison,"  said 
he.  "  Are  those  your  sons  down  there  ?  " 

"  This  is  my  nephew,  master." 

"  Here's  a  guinea  for  him.  He  shall  never 
say  I  robbed  him  of  his  uncle."  And  so,  having 
turned  the  laugh  in  his  favour  by  his  merry  way 
of  taking  it,  he  cracked  his  whip,  and  away  they 
flew  to  make  London  under  the  five  hours,  while 
Jack  Harrison,  with  his  half-fullered  shoe  in  his 
hand,  went  whistling  back  to  his  forge. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  WALKER  OF  CLIFFE  ROYAL. 

So  much  for  Champion  Harrison !  Now  I 
wish  to  say  something  more  about  Boy  Jim,  not 
only  because  he  was  the  comrade  of  my  youth, 
but  because  you  will  find  as  you  go  on  that  this 
book  is  his  story  rather  than  mine,  and  that  there 
came  a  time  when  his  name  and  his  fame  were  in 
the  mouths  of  all  England.  You  will  bear  with 
me  therefore  while  I  tell  you  of  his  character,  as 
it  was  in  those  days,  and  especially  of  one  very 
singular  adventure  which  neither  of  us  is  likely 
to  forget. 

It  was  strange  to  see  Jim  with  his  uncle  and 
his  aunt,  for  he  seemed  to  be  of  another  race 
and  breed  from  them.  Often  I  have  watched 
them  come  up  the  aisle  upon  a  Sunday,  first  the 
square,  thickset  man,  and  then  the  little,  worn, 
anxious-eyed  woman,  and  last  this  glorious  lad 
with  his  clear-cut  face,  his  black  curls  and  his 
step  so  springy  and  light  that  it  seemed  as  if 

20 


THE   WALKER   OF   CLIFFE    ROYAL.  2I 

he  were  bound  to  earth  by  some  lesser  tie  than 
the  heavy-footed  villagers  round  him.  He  had 
not  yet  attained  his  full  six  foot  of  stature,  but  no 
judge  of  a  man  (and  every  woman  at  least  is  one) 
could  look  at  his  perfect  shoulders,  his  narrow 
loins,  and  his  proud  head  that  sat  upon  his  neck 
like  a  flower  upon  its  stalk,  without  feeling  that 
sober  joy  which  all  that  is  beautiful  in  Nature 
gives  to  us — a  vague  self-content,  as  though  in 
some  way  we  also  had  a  hand  in  the  making 
of  it. 

But  we  are  used  to  associate  beauty  with  soft- 
ness in  a  man.  I  do  not  know  why  they  should 
be  so  coupled,  and  they  never  were  with  Jim. 
Of  all  men  that  I  have  known  he  was  the  most 
iron-hard,  in  body  and  in  mind.  Who  was  there 
among  us  who  could  walk  with  him,  or  run  with 
him,  or  swim  with  him  ?  Who  on  all  the  coun- 
tryside, save  only  Boy  Jim,  would  have  swung 
himself  over  Wolstonbury  cliff  and  clambered 
down  one  hundred  feet  with  the  mother  hawk 
flapping  at  his  ears  in  the  vain  struggle  to  hold 
him  from  her  nest  ?  He  was  but  sixteen,  with  his 
gristle  not  yet  all  set  into  bone  when  he  fought 
and  beat  Gypsy  Lee  of  Burgess  Hill,  who  called 
himself  the  cock  of  the  South  Downs.  It  was 
after  this  that  Champion  Harrison  took  his  train- 
ing as  a  boxer  in  hand.  "  I'd  rather  you  left 


22  RODNEY   STONE. 

millin'  alone,  Boy  Jim,"  said  he,  "  and  so  had 
the  missus  ;  but  if  mill  you  must  it  will  not  be 
my  fault  if  you  can  not  hold  up  your  hands  to 
anything  in  the  south  country."  And  it  was  not 
long  before  he  made  good  his  promise. 

I  have  said  already  that  Boy  Jim  had  no  love 
for  his  books,  but  by  that  I  meant  his  school- 
books,  for  when  it  came  to  the  reading  of  ro- 
mances or  of  anything  which  had  a  touch  of 
gallantry  or  adventure,  there  was  no  tearing 
him  away  from  it  until  it  was  finished.  When 
such  a  book  came  into  his  hands  Friar's  Oak 
and  the  smithy  became  a  dream  to  him,  and  his 
life  was  spent  out  upon  the  ocean  or  wandering 
over  the  broad  continents  with  his  heroes.  And 
he  would  draw  me  into  his  enthusiasm  also,  so 
that  I  was  glad  to  play  Friday  to  his  Crusoe 
when  he  proclaimed  that  the  Clump  at  Clayton 
was  a  desert  island,  and  that  we  were  cast  upon 
it  for  a  week.  But  when  I  found  that  we  were 
actually  to  sleep  out  there  without  covering 
every  night,  and  that  he  proposed  that  our 
food  should  be  the  sheep  of  the  Downs  (wild 
goats  he  called  them),  cooked  upon  a  fire  which 
was  to  be  made  by  the  rubbing  together  of  two 
sticks,  my  heart  failed  me,  and  on  the  very  first 
night  I  crept  away  to  my  mother.  But  Jim 
staid  out  there  for  the  whole  weary  week — a 


THE   WALKER   OF   CLIFFE   ROYAL.  23 

wet  week  it  was,  too — and  came  back  at  the 
end  of  it  looking  a  deal  wilder  and  dirtier  than 
his  hero  does  in  the  picture  books.  It  is  well 
that  he  had  only  promised  to  stay  a  week,  for 
if  it  had  been  a  month,  he  would  have  died  of 
cold  and  hunger  before  his  pride  would  have  let 
him  come  home. 

His  pride — that  was  the  deepest  thing  in  all 
Jim's  nature.  It  is  a  mixed  quality,  to  my  mind, 
half  a  virtue  and  half  a  vice — a  virtue  in  holding 
a  man  out  of  the  dirt,  a  vice  in  making  it  hard 
for  him  to  rise  when  once  he  has  fallen.  Jim  was 
proud  down  to  the  very  marrow  of  his  bones. 
You  remember  the  guinea  that  the  young  lord 
had  thrown  him  from  the  box  of  the  coach. 
Two  days  later  somebody  picked  it  from  the 
roadside  mud.  Jim  only  had  seen  where  it  had 
fallen,  and  he  would  not  deign  even  to  point  it 
out  to  a  beggar.  Nor  would  he  stoop  to  give  a 
reason,  in  such  a  case,  but  would  answer  all  re- 
monstrance with  a  curl  of  his  lip  and  a  flash  of 
his  dark  eyes.  Even  at  school  he  was  the  same, 
with  such  a  sense  of  his  own  dignity  that  other 
folk  had  to  think  of  it  too.  He  might  say,  as  he 
did  say,  that  a  right  angle  was  a  proper  sort  of 
an  angle,  or  put  Panama  in  Sicily,  but  old  Joshua 
Allen  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  raising  his 
cane  against  him  as  he  would  of  letting  me  off  if 


24  RODNEY   STONE. 

I  had  said  as  much.  And  so  it  was  that,  although 
Jim  was  the  son  of  nobody,  and  I  of  a  king's  offi- 
cer, it  always  seemed  to  me  to  have  been  a  con- 
descension on  his  part  that  he  should  have  chosen 
me  as  his  friend. 

It  was  this  pride  of  Boy  Jim's  which  led  to  an 
adventure  which  makes  me  shiver  now  when  I 
think  of  it. 

It  happened  in  the  August  of  '99,  or  it  may 
have  been  in  the  early  days  of  September,  but  I 
remember  that  we  heard  the  cuckoo  in  Patcham 
wood,  and  that  Jim  said  that  perhaps  it  was  the 
last  of  him.  I  was  still  at  school,  but  Jim  had 
left,  he  being  nigh  sixteen  and  I  thirteen.  It  was 
my  Saturday  half-holiday,  and  we  spent  it,  as  we 
often  did,  out  upon  the  downs.  Our  favourite 
place  was  beyond  Wolstonbury,  where  we  could 
stretch  ourselves  upon  the  soft,  springy  chalk 
grass  among  the  plump  little  southdown  sheep, 
chatting  with  the  shepherds  as  they  leaned  upon 
their  queer  old  Pyecombe  crooks,  made  in  the 
days  when  Sussex  turned  out  more  iron  than  all 
the  counties  of  England. 

It  was  there  that  we  lay  upon  that  glorious 
afternoon.  If  we  chose  to  roll  upon  our  right 
side  the  whole  weald  would  lie  in  front  of  us,  with 
the  north  downs  curving  away  in  olive-green 
folds,  with  here  and  there  the  snow-white  rift  of  a 


THE   WALKER   OF   CLIFFE    ROYAL.  25 

chalk  pit.  If  we  turned  upon  our  left  we  over- 
looked the  huge  blue  stretch  of  the  channel.  A 
convoy,  as  I  can  well  remember,  was  coming  up 
it  that  day,  the  timid  flock  of  merchantmen  in 
front,  the  frigates,  like  well-trained  dogs,  upon  the 
skirts,  and  two  burly  drover  line-of-battle  ships 
rolling  along  behind  them.  My  fancy  was  soar- 
ing out  to  my  father  upon  the  waters,  when  a 
word  from  Jim  brought  it  back  on  to  the  grass 
like  a  broken-winged  gull. 

"  Roddy,"  said  he,  "  have  you  heard  that  Cliffe 
Royal  is  haunted  ?  " 

Had  I  heard  it  ?  Of  course  I  had  heard  it. 
Who  was  there  in  all  the  Down  country  who  had 
not  heard  of  the  Walker  of  Cliffe  Royal  ? 

"  Do  you  know  the  story  of  it,  Roddy  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  I,  with  some  pride,  "  I  ought  to, 
seeing  that  my  mother's  brother,  Sir  Charles  Tre- 
gellis,  was  the  nearest  friend  of  Lord  Avon,  and 
was  down  at  this  card  party  when  the  thing  hap- 
pened. I  heard  the  vicar  and  my  mother  talking 
about  it  last  week,  and  it  was  all  so  clear  to  me 
that  I  might  have  been  there  when  the  murder 
was  done." 

"  It  is  a  strange  thing,"  said  Jim,  thoughtfully, 
"  but  when  I  asked  my  aunt  about  it  she  would 
give  me  no  answer,  and  as  to  my  uncle,  he  cut  me 
short  at  the  very  mention  of  it." 


26  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  There  is  a  good  reason  for  that,"  said  I,  "  for 
Lord  Avon  was,  as  I  have  heard,  your  uncle's 
best  friend,  and  it  is  but  natural  that  he  would 
not  wish  to  speak  of  his  disgrace." 

"  Tell  me  the  story,  Roddy." 

"  It  is  an  old  one  now — fourteen  years  old — 
and  yet  they  have  not  got  to  the  end  of  it.  There 
were  four  of  them  who  had  come  down  from 
London  to  spend  a  few  days  in  Lord  Avon's  old 
house.  One  was  his  own  younger  brother,  Cap- 
tain Barrington.  Another  was  his  cousin,  Sir 
Lothian  Hume.  Sir  Charles  Tregellis,  my  uncle, 
was  the  third,  and  Lord  Avon  the  fourth.  They 
are  fond  of  playing  cards  for  money,  these  great 
people,  and  they  played  and  played  for  two  days 
and  a  night.  Lord  Avon  lost  and  Sir  Lothian 
lost,  and  my  uncle  lost,  and  Captain  Barrington 
won  until  he  could  win  no  more.  He  won  their 
money,  but  above  all  he  won  the  papers  from  his 
elder  brother,  which  meant  a  great  deal  to  him. 
It  was  late  on  a  Monday  night  that  they  stopped 
playing.  On  the  Tuesday  morning  Captain  Bar- 
rington was  found  dead  beside  his  bed  with  his 
throat  cut." 

"  And  Lord  Avon  did  it  ?  " 

"  His  papers  were  found  burned  in  the  grate, 
his  wristband  was  clutched  in  the  dead  man's 
hand,  and  his  knife  lay  beside  the  body." 


THE   WALKER   OF   CLIFFE    ROYAL.  2/ 

"  Did  they  hang  him  then  ?  " 

"  They  were  too  slow  in  laying  hands  upon 
him.  He  waited  until  he  saw  that  they  had 
brought  it  home  to  him,  and  then  he  fled.  He 
has  never  been  seen  since,  but  it  is  said  that  he 
reached  America." 

"  And  the  ghost  of  Captain  Barrington  walks  ?  " 

"  So  it  is  said." 

"  Why  is  the  house  still  empty?  " 

"  Because  it  is  in  the  keeping  of  the  law. 
Lord  Avon  had  no  children,  and  Sir  Lothian 
Hume,  he  who  was  at  the  card  party,  is  his 
nephew  and  heir.  But  he  can  touch  nothing 
until  he  can  prove  Lord  Avon  to  be  dead." 

Jim  lay  silent  for  a  bit,  plucking  at  the  short 
grass  with  his  fingers. 

"  Roddy,"  said  he  at  last,  "  will  you  come  with 
me  to-night  and  look  for  the  ghost  ?  " 

It  took  me  aback,  the  very  thought  of  it. 

"  My  mother  would  not  let  me." 

"  Slip  out  when  she's  abed.  I'll  wait  for  you 
at  the  smithy." 

"  Cliffe  Royal  is  locked." 

"  I'll  open  a  window  easily  enough." 

"  I'm  afraid,  Jim." 

"  But  you  are  not  afraid  if  you  are  with  me, 
Roddy.  I'll  promise  you  that  no  ghost  shall  hurt 
you." 


2g  RODNEY   STONE. 

So  I  gave  him  my  word  that  I  would  come, 
and  then  all  the  rest  of  the  day  I  went  about,  the 
most  sad-faced  lad  in  Sussex.  It  was  all  very 
well  for  Boy  Jim  !  It  was  that  pride  of  his  which 
was  taking  him  there.  He  would  go  because 
there  was  no  one  else  on  the  countryside  that 
would  dare.  But  I  had  no  pride  of  that  sort.  I 
was  quite  of  the  same  way  of  thinking  as  the 
others,  and  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  pass- 
ing my  night  at  Jacob's  gibbet  on  Ditchling  Com- 
mon  as  in  the  haunted  house  of  Cliffe  Royal. 
Still,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  desert  Jim,  and 
so,  as  I  say,  I  slunk  about  the  house  with  so  pale 
and  peaky  a  face  that  my  dear  mother  would  have 
it  that  I  had  been  at  the  green  apples,  and  sent  me 
to  bed  early  with  a  dish  of  chamomile  tea  for  my 
supper. 

England  went  to  rest  betimes  in  those  days, 
for  there  were  few  who  could  afford  the  price  of 
candles.  When  I  looked  out  of  my  window  just 
after  the  clock  had  gone  ten  there  was  not  a  light 
in  the  village,  save  only  at  the  inn.  It  was  but  a 
few  feet  from  the  ground,  so  I  slipped  out,  and 
there  was  Jim  waiting  for  me  at  the  smithy  cor- 
ner. We  crossed  John's  Common  together,  and 
so  past  Ridden's  farm,  meeting  only  one  or  two 
riding  officers  upon  the  way.  There  was  a  brisk 
wind  blowing,  and  the  moon  kept  peeping 


THE   WALKER   OF   CLIFFE   ROYAL.  29 

through  the  rifts  of  the  scud,  so  that  our  road 
was  sometimes  silver  clear  and  sometimes  so 
black  that  we  found  ourselves  among  the  bram- 
bles and  gorsebushes  which  lined  it.  We  came 
at  last  to  the  wooden  gate  with  the  high  stone 
pillars  by  the  roadside,  and  looking  through  be- 
tween the  rails,  we  saw  the  long  avenue  of  oaks, 
and  at  the  end  of  this  ill-boding  tunnel  the  pale 
face  of  the  house  glimmering  in  the  moonshine. 

That  would  have  been  enough  for  me,  that 
one  glimpse  of  it,  and  the  sound  of  the  night 
wind  sighing  and  groaning  among  the  branches. 
But  Jim  swung  the  gate  open,  and  up  we  went, 
the  gravel  squeaking  beneath  our  tread.  It  tow- 
ered high,  the  old  house,  with  many  little  win- 
dows in  which  the  moon  glinted,  and  with  a  strip 
of  water  running  round  three  sides  of  it.  The 
arched  door  stood  right  in  the  face  of  us,  and 
on  one  side  a  lattice  hung  open  upon  its  hinge. 

"  We're  in  luck,  Roddy,"  whispered  Jim. 
"  Here's  one  of  the  windows  open." 

"  Don't  you  think  we've  gone  far  enough, 
Jim  ?  "  said  I,  with  my  teeth  chattering. 

"  I'll  lift  you  in  first." 

"  No,  no  ;  I'll  not  go  first." 

"  Then  I  will."  He  gripped  the  sill  and  had 
his  knees  on  it  in  an  instant.  "  Now,  Roddy,  give 
me  your  hands."  With  a  pull  he  had  me  up  be- 


3Q  RODNEY  STONE. 

side  him,  and  a  moment  later  we  were  both  in  the 
haunted  house. 

How  hollow  it  sounded  when  we  jumped 
down  onto  the  wooden  floor !  There  was  such 
a  sudden  boom  and  reverberation  that  we  both 
stood  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  Jim  burst  out 
laughing. 

"  What  an  old  drum  of  a  place  it  is ! "  he 
cried.  "  We'll  strike  a  light,  Roddy,  and  see 
where  we  are." 

He  had  brought  a  candle  and  a  tinder  box  in 
his  pocket.  When  the  flame  burned  up  we  saw 
an  arched  stone  roof  above  our  heads  and  broad 
deal  shelves  all  round  us,  covered  with  dusty 
dishes.  It  was  the  pantry. 

"  I'll  show  you  round,"  said  Jim,  merrily,  and, 
pushing  the  door  open,  he  led  the  way  into  the 
hall.  I  remembered  the  high  oak-panelled  walls 
with  the  heads  of  deer  jutting  out  and  a  single 
white  bust,  which  sent  my  heart  into  my  mouth, 
in  the  corner.  Many  rooms  opened  out  of  this, 
and  we  wandered  from  one  to  the  other — the 
kitchens,  the  still  room,  the  morning  room,  the 
dining  room,  all  filled  with  the  same  choking 
smell  of  dust  and  of  mildew. 

"  This  is  where  they  played  the  cards,  Jim," 
said  I  in  a  hushed  voice.  "  It  was  on  that  very 
table." 


THE   WALKER   OF   CLIFFE   ROYAL.  3! 

"  Why  here  are  the  cards  themselves,"  cried 
he,  and  he  pulled  a  brown  towel  from  something 
in  the  centre  of  the  sideboard.  Sure  enough  it 
was  a  pile  of  playing  cards — forty  packs,  I  should 
think,  at  the  least — which  had  lain  there  ever 
since  that  tragic  game  which  was  played  before  I 
was  born. 

"  I  wonder  whence  that  stair  leads?"  said  Jim. 

"  Don't  go  up  there,  Jim  !  "  I  cried,  clutching 
at  his  arm.  "  That  must  lead  to  the  room  of  the 
murder." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?" 

"  The  vicar  said  that  they  saw  on  the  ceiling — 
O  Jim,  you  can  see  it  even  now  !  " 

He  held  up  his  candle,  and  there  was  a  great 
dark  smudge  which  had  sopped  through  the 
white  plaster  above  us. 

"  I  believe  you're  right,"  said  he,  "  but  any- 
how, I'm  going  up  to  have  a  look  at  it." 

"  Don't,  Jim,  don't !  "  I  cried. 

"Tut,  Roddy,  you  can  stay  here  if  you  are 
afraid.  I  won't  be  more  than  a  minute.  There's 
no  use  going  on  a  ghost  hunt  unless — my  God  ! 
there's  something  coming  down  the  stairs !  " 

I  heard  it,  too,  a  shuffling  footstep  in  the  room 
above,  and  then  a  creak  from  the  steps,  and  then 
another  creak,  and  another.  I  saw  Jim's  face  as 
if  it  had  been  carved  out  of  ivory,  with  his  parted 


32  RODNEY   STONE. 

lips  and  his  staring-  eyes  fixed  upon  the  black 
square  of  the  stair  opening.  He  still  held  the 
light,  but  his  fingers  twitched,  and  with  every 
twitch  the  shadows  sprang  from  the  walls  to  the 
ceiling.  As  to  myself,  my  knees  gave  way  under 
me,  and  I  found  myself  on  the  floor  crouching 
down  behind  Jim  with  a  scream  frozen  in  my 
throat.  And  still  the  step  came  slowly  from  stair 
to  stair. 

Then,  hardly  daring  to  look  and  yet  unable  to 
turn  away  my  eyes,  I  saw  a  figure  dimly  outlined 
in  the  corner  upon  which  the  stair  opened.  There 
was  a  silence  in  which  I  could  hear  my  poor  heart 
thumping,  and  then  when  I  looked  again  the  fig- 
ure was  gone,  and  the  low  creak,  creak  was  heard 
once  more  upon  the  stairs.  Jim  sprang  after  it, 
and  I  was  left  half  fainting  in  the  moonlight. 

But  it  was  not  for  long.  He  was  down  again 
in  a  minute,  and  passing  his  hand  under  my  arm, 
he  half  led  and  half  carried  me  out  of  the  house. 
It  was  not  until  we  were  in  the  fresh  night  air 
again  that  he  opened  his  mouth. 

"Can  you  stand,  Roddy?" 

• 

"Yes,  but  I'm  shaking." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  he,  passing  his  hand  over  his 
forehead.  "  I  ask  your  pardon,  Roddy.  I  was  a 
fool  to  bring  you  on  such  an  errand.  But  I  never 
believed  in  such  things.  I  know  better  now." 


THE   WALKER   OF   CLIFFE   ROYAL. 


33 


"  Could  it  have  been  a  man,  Jim  ? "  I  asked, 
plucking  up  my  courage,  now  that  I  could  hear 
the  dogs  barking  on  the  farms. 

"  It  was  a  spirit,  Roddy." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Because  I  followed  it,  and  saw  it  vanish  into 
a  wall  as  easily  as  an  eel  into  sand.  Why,  Roddy, 
what's  amiss  now  ?  " 

My  fears  were  all  back  upon  me,  and  every 
nerve  creeping  with  horror.  "  Take  me  away, 
Jim  !  Take  me  away  !"  I  cried. 

I  was  glaring  down  the  avenue,  and  his  eyes 
followed  mine.  Amid  the  gloom  of  the  oak  trees 
something  was  coming  toward  us. 

"  Quiet,  Roddy  !  "  whispered  Jim.  "  By  the 
Lord,  come  what  may,  my  arms  are  going  round 
it  this  time." 

We  crouched  as  motionless  as  the  trunks  be- 
hind us.  Heavy  steps  ploughed  their  way  through 
the  soft  gravel,  and  a  broad  figure  loomed  upon 
us  in  the  darkness.  Jim  sprang  upon  it  like 
a  tiger.  "  You're  not  a  spirit,  anyway,"  he 
cried. 

The  man  gave  a  shout  of  surprise,  and  then  a 

growl  of  rage.    "  What  the  devil !  "  he  roared, 

and  then,  "  I'll  break  your  neck  if  you  don't  let 


go! 


The   threat   might    not   have   loosened   Jim's 


34 


RODNEY  STONE. 


grip,  but  the  Yoice  did.  "  Wh  j,  uncle !  "  he 
cried. 

"  Well,  I'm  blessed  if  it  isn't  Boy  Jim !  And 
what's  this?  Why,  it's  young  Master  Rodney 
Stone,  as  I'm  a  living  sinner!  What  in  the  world 
are  you  two  doing  up  at  Cliff e  Royal  at  this  time 
of  night?" 

We  had  all  moved  out  into  the  moonlight,  and 
there  was  Champion  Harrison  with  a  big  bundle 
on  his  arm,  and  such  a  look  of  amazement  upon 
his  face  as  would  have  brought  a  smile  back  on 
to  mine  had  my  heart  not  been  still  cramped 
with  fear. 

•*  We're  exploring,"  said  Jim. 

"  Exploring,  are  you  ?  Well,  I  don't  think  you 
were  meant  to  be  Captain  Cooks,  either  of  you, 
for  I  never  saw  such  a  pair  of  peeled-turnip  faces. 
Why,  Jim,  what  are  you  afraid  of?" 

"  I'm  not  afraid,  uncle,  I  never  was  afraid. 
But  spirits  are  new  to  me,  and " 

"Spirits?" 

"  I've  been  in  Cliffe  Royal,  and  we've  seen  the 
ghost." 

The  champion  gave  a  whistle. 

"  That's  the  game,  is  it  ?  "  said  he,  "  Did  you 
have  speech  with  it?" 

"  It  vanished  first." 

The    champion   whistled   once    more.    "  I've 


THE  WALKER  OF  CLIFFE   ROYAL.  35 

heard  there  is  something  of  the  sort  up  yonder," 
said  he,  "  but  it's  not  a  thing*  as  I  would  advise 
you  to  meddle  with.  There's  enough  trouble 
with  the  folks  of  this  world,  Boy  Jim,  without 
going  out  of  your  way  to  mix  up  with  those  of 
another.  As  to  young  Master  Rodney  Stone,  if 
his  good  mother  saw  that  white  face  of  his  she'd 
never  let  him  come  to  the  smithy  more.  Walk 
slowly  on,  and  I'll  see  you  back  to  Friar's  Oak." 

We  had  gone  half  a  mile  perhaps  when  the 
champion  overtook  us,  and  I  could  not  but  ob- 
serve that  the  bundle  was  no  longer  under  his 
arm.  We  were  nearly  at  the  smithy  before  Jim 
asked  the  question  which  was  already  in  my 
mind. 

"  What  tookjw  up  to  Cliffe  Royal,  uncle?" 

"  Well,  as  a  man  gets  on  in  years,"  said  the 
champion,  M  there's  many  a  duty  turns  up  that  the 
likes  of  you  have  no  idea  of.  When  you're  near 
forty  yourself  you'll  maybe  know  the  truth  of 
what  I  say." 

So  that  was  all  that  we  could  draw  from  him, 
but,  young  as  I  was,  I  had  heard  of  coast  smug- 
gling and  of  packages  carried  to  lonely  places  at 
night,  so  that  from  that  time  on  if  I  heard  that 
the  preventives  had  made  a  capture  I  was  never 
easy  until  I  saw  the  jolly  face  of  Champion  Harri- 
son looking  out  of  his  smithy  door. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  PLAY  ACTRESS  OF  ANSTEY  CROSS. 

I  HAVE  told  you  something  about  Friar's  Oak 
and  the  life  which  we  led  there.  Now  that  my 
memory  goes  back  to  the  old  place,  it  would 
gladly  linger,  for  every  thread  which  I  draw 
from  the  skein  of  the  past  brings  out  half  a  dozen 
others  that  were  entangled  with  it.  I  was  in  two 
minds  when  I  began  whether  I  had  enough  in  me 
to  make  a  book  of,  and  now  I  know  that  I  could 
write  one  about  Friar's  Oak  alone,  and  the  folk 
whom  I  knew  in  my  childhood.  They  were  hard 
and  uncouth,  some  of  them,  I  doubt  not,  and  yet, 
seen  through  the  golden  haze  of  time,  they  all 
seem  sweet  and  lovable.  There  was  our  good 
vicar,  Mr.  Jefferson,  who  loved  the  whole  world, 
save  only  Mr.  Slack,  the  Baptist  minister  of  Clay- 
ton ;  and  there  was  kindly  Mr.  Slack,  who  was  all 
men's  brother,  save  only  of  Mr.  Jefferson,  the  vicar 
of  Friar's  Oak.  Then  there  was  Monsieur  Rudin, 

the  French  royalist  refugee,  who  lived  over  on 

36 


THE  PLAY  ACTRESS  OF  ANSTEY  CROSS.    37 

the  Pangdean  road,  and  who,  when  the  news  of  a 
victory  came  in,  was  convulsed  with  joy  because 
we  had  beaten  Bonaparte,  and  shaken  with  rage 
because  we  had  beaten  the  French,  so  that  after 
the  Nile  he  wept  for  a  whole  day  out  of  delight, 
and  then  for  another  one  out  of  fury,  alternately 
clapping  his  hands  and  stamping  his  feet.  Well 
I  remember  his  thin,  upright  figure  and  the  way 
in  which  he  jauntily  twirled  his  little  cane,  for 
cold  and  hunger  could  not  cast  him  down,  though 
we  knew  that  he  had  his  share  of  both.  Yet  he 
was  so  proud  and  had  such  a  grand  manner  of 
talking  that  no  one  dared  to  offer  him  a  cloak 
or  a  meal.  I  can  see  his  face  now,  with  a  flush 
over  each  craggy  cheek  bone  when  the  butcher 
made  him  the  present  of  some  ribs  of  beef. 
He  could  not  but  take  it,  and  yet  while  he  was 
stalking  off  he  threw  a  proud  glance  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  butcher,  and  he  said,  "  Monsieur, 
I  have  a  dog !  "  Yet  it  was  Monsieur  Rudin  and 
not  his  dog  who  looked  plumper  for  a  week  to 
come. 

Then  I  remember  Mr.  Paterson,  the  farmer, 
who  was  what  you  would  now  call  a  radical, 
though  at  that  time  some  called  him  a  Priestley-ite, 
and  some  a  Fox-ite,  and  nearly  everybody  a  traitor. 
It  certainly  seemed  to  me  at  the  time  to  be  very 
wicked  that  a  man  should  look  glum  when  he 


3g  RODNEY   STONE. 

heard  of  a  British  victory,  and  when  they  burned 
his  straw  image  at  the  gate  of  his  farm,  Boy  Jim 
and  I  were  among  those  who  lent  a  hand.  But 
we  were  bound  to  confess  he  had  game,  though 
he  might  be  a  traitor,  for  down  he  came  striding 
into  the  midst  of  us,  with  his  brown  coat  and  his 
buckled  shoes,  and  the  fire  beating  upon  his  grim 
schoolmaster  face.  My  word  how  he  rated  us, 
and  how  glad  we  were  at  last  to  sneak  quietly 
away  !  "  You  livers  of  a  lie,"  said  he.  "  You  and 
those  like  you  have  been  preaching  peace  for  nigh 
two  thousand  years,  and  cutting  throats  the  whole 
time  !  If  the  money  that  is  lost  in  taking  French 
lives  were  spent  in  saving  English  ones,  you  would 
have  more  right  to  burn  candles  in  your  windows. 
Who  are  you  that  dare  to  come  here  to  insult  a 
law-abiding  man  ?  "  "  We  are  the  people  of  Eng- 
land," cried  young  Master  Ovington,  the  son  of 
the  Tory  squire.  "You — you  horse-racing,  cock- 
fighting,  ne'er-do-weel,  do  you  presume  to  talk 
for  the  people  of  England?  They  are  a  deep, 
strong,  silent  stream,  and  you  are  the  scum,  the 
bubbles,  the  poor  silly  froth  that  floats  upon  the 
surface."  We  thought  him  very  wicked  then,  but, 
looking  back,  I  am  not  sure  that  we  were  not 
very  wicked  ourselves. 

And  then   there  were   the   smugglers !     The 
Downs  swarmed  with  them,  for  since  there  might 


My  word,  how  he  rated  us  ! 


THE    PLAY   ACTRESS   OF   ANSTEY   CROSS. 


39 


be  no  lawful  trade  between  France  and  England  it 
had  all  to  run  in  that  channel.  I  have  been  up  on 
St.  John's  Common  upon  a  dark  night,  and,  lying 
among  the  bracken,  I  have  seen  as  many  as  sev- 
enty mules  and  a  man  at  the  head  of  each  go  flit- 
ting past  me  as  silently  as  fish  in  a  stream.  Not 
one  of  them  but  bore  its  two  ankers  of  the  right 
French  cognac,  or  its  bale  of  silk  of  Lyons  and 
lace  of  Valenciennes.  I  knew  Dan  Scales,  the 
head  of  them,  and  I  knew  Tom  Hislop,  the  riding 
officer,  and  I  remember  the  night  they  met.  "  Do 
you  fight,  Dan  ?  "  asked  Tom.  "  Yes,  Tom,  thou 
must  fight  for  it."  On  which  Tom  drew  his  pis- 
tol and  blew  Dan's  brains  out.  "  It  was  a  sad 
thing  to  do,"  he  said  afterward,  "  but  I  knew  Dan 
was  too  good  a  man  for  me,  for  we  tried  it  out 
before."  It  was  Tom  who  paid  a  poet  from 
Brighton  to  write  the  lines  for  the  tombstone, 
which  we  all  thought  were  very  true  and  good, 
beginning — 

Alas  !     Swift  flew  the  fatal  lead 
Which  pierced  the  young  man's  head  ; 
He  instant  fell,  resigned  his  breath, 
And  closed  his  languid  eyes  in  death. 

There  was  more  of  it,  and  I  dare  say  it  is  all 
still  to  be  read  in  Patcham  churchyard. 

One  day  about  the  time  of  our  Cliffe  Royal 
adventure  I  was  seated  in  the  cottage  looking 


40  RODNEY   STONE. 

round  at  the  curios  which  my  father  had  fastened 
on  to  the  walls,  and  wishing,  like  the  lazy  lad  that 
I  was,  that  Mr.  Lilly  had  died  before  ever  he 
wrote  his  Latin  grammar,  when  my  mother,  who 
was  sitting  knitting  in  the  window,  gave  a  little 
cry  of  surprise. 

"  Good  gracious ! "  she  cried.  "  What  a  vulgar- 
looking  woman ! " 

It  was  so  rare  to  hear  my  mother  say  a  hard 
word  against  anybody  (unless  it  were  General 
Bonaparte)  that  I  was  across  the  room  and  at  the 
window  in  a  jump.  A  pony  chaise  was  coming 
slowly  down  the  village  street,  and  in  it  was  the 
queerest-looking  person  that  I  had  ever  seen. 
She  was  very  stout,  with  a  face  that  was  of  so 
dark  a  red  that  it  shaded  away  into  purple  over 
the  nose  and  cheeks.  She  wore  a  great  hat,  with 
a  white  curling  ostrich  feather,  and  from  under  its 
brim  her  two  bold  black  eyes  stared  out  with  a 
look  of  anger  and  defiance  as  if  to  tell  the  folk 
that  she  thought  less  of  them  than  they  could  of 
her.  She  had  some  sort  of  scarlet  pelisse,  with 
white  swansdown,  about  her  neck,  and  she  held 
the  reins  slack  in  her  hands,  while  the  pony  wan- 
dered from  side  to  side  of  the  road  as  the  fancy 
took  him.  Each  time  the  pony  swayed,  her  head 
with  the  great  hat  swayed  also,  so  that  sometimes 
we  saw  the  crown  of  it  and  sometimes  the  brim. 


THE    PLAY   ACTRESS   OF   ANSTEY   CROSS.         4I 

"  What  a  dreadful  sight !  "  cried  my  mother. 

"  What  is  amiss  with  her,  mother?" 

"  Heaven  forgive  me  if  I  misjudge  her,  Rod- 
ney, but  I  think  that  the  unfortunate  woman  has 
been  drinking." 

"  Why,"  I  cried,  "  she  has  pulled  the  chaise  up 
at  the  smithy.  I'll  find  out  all  the  news  for  you," 
and  catching  up  my  cap,  away  I  scampered. 

Champion  Harrison  had  been  shoeing  a  horse 
at  the  forge  door,  and  when  I  got  into  the  street 
I  could  see  him  with  the  creature's  hoof  still 
under  his  arm  and  the  rasp  in  his  hand,  kneeling 
down  amid  the  white  parings.  The  woman  was 
beckoning  him  from  the  chaise,  and  he  staring  at 
her  with  the  queerest  expression  on  his  face. 
Presently  he  threw  down  his  rasp  and  went  across 
to  her,  standing  by  the  wheel  and  shaking  his 
head  as  he  talked  to  her.  For  my  part  I  slipped 
into  the  smithy,  where  Boy  Jim  was  finishing  the 
shoe,  and  I  watched  the  neatness  of  his  work  and 
the  deft  way  in  which  he  turned  up  the  calkins. 
When  he  had  done  with  it  he  carried  it  out,  and 
there  was  the  strange  woman  still  talking  with  his 
uncle. 

"  Is  that  he  ?  "  I  heard  her  ask. 

Champion  Harrison  nodded. 

She  looked  at  Jim,  and  I  never  saw  such  eyes 
in  a  human  head,  so  large  and  black  and  wonder- 


42  RODNEY  STONE. 

ful.  Boy  as  I  was,  I  knew  that  in  spite  of  that 
bloated  face  this  woman  had  once  been  very 
beautiful.  She  put  out  a  hand,  with  all  the 
fingers  going,  as  if  she  were  playing  on  the  harp- 
sichord, and  she  touched  Jim  on  the  shoulder. 

"  I  hope — I  hope  you're  well,"  she  stammered. 

"  Very  well,  mam,"  said  Jim,  staring  from  her 
to  his  uncle. 

"And  happy,  too?" 

"  Yes,  mam,  I  thank  you." 

"Nothing  that  you  crave  for?" 

"  Why,  no,  mam,  I  have  all  that  I  lack." 

"  That  will  do,  Jim,"  said  his  uncle  in  a  stern 
voice.  "  Blow  up  the  forge  again,  for  that  shoe 
wants  reheating." 

But  it  seemed  as  if  the  woman  had  something 
else  that  she  would  say,  for  she  was  angry  that 
he  should  be  sent  away.  Her  eyes  gleamed  and 
her  head  tossed  while  the  smith,  with  his  two  big 
hands  outspread,  seemed  to  be  soothing  her  as 
best  he  could.  For  a  long  time  they  whispered, 
until  at  last  she  seemed  to  be  satisfied. 

"  To-morrow,  then  ?  "  she  cried  out  loud. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  answered. 

"  You  keep  your  word,  and  I'll  keep  mine," 
said  she,  and  dropped  the  lash  on  the  pony's 
back.  The  smith  stood  with  the  rasp  in  his  hand 
looking  after  her  until  she  was  just  a  little  red 


THE   PLAY  ACTRESS   OF  ANSTEY  CROSS.        43 

spot  on  the  white  road.  Then  he  turned,  and  I 
never  saw  his  face  so  grave. 

"Jim,"  said  he,  "that's  Miss  Hinton,  who  has 
come  to  live  at  the  Maples  out  Anstey  Cross  way. 
She's  taken  kind  of  a  fancy  to  you,  Jim,  and  may 
be  she  can  help  you  on  a  bit.  I  promised  her 
that  you  would  go  over  and  see  her  to-morrow." 

"  I  don't  want  her  help,  uncle,  and  I  don't 
want  to  see  her." 

"  But  I've  promised,  Jim,  and  you  wouldn't 
make  me  out  a  liar.  She  does  but  want  to  talk 
with  you,  for  it  is  a  lonely  life  she  leads." 

"  What  would  she  want  to  talk  with  such  as 
me  about?" 

"  Why,  I  can  not  say  that,  but  she  seemed  very 
set  upon  it,  and  women  have  their  fancies.  There's 
young  Master  Stone  here,  who  wouldn't  refuse  to 
go  and  see  a  good  lady,  I'll  warrant,  if  he  thought 
he  might  better  his  fortune  by  doing  so." 

"  Well,  uncle,  I'll  go  if  Roddy  Stone  will  go 
with  me,"  said  Jim. 

"  Of  course  he'll  go. — Won't  you,  Master 
Rodney?" 

So  it  ended  in  my  saying  yes,  and  back  I  went 
with  all  my  news  to  my  mother,  who  dearly  loved 
a  little  bit  of  gossip.  She  shook  her  head  when 
she  heard  where  I  was  going,  but  she  did  not  say 
nay,  and  so  it  was  settled. 


44  RODNEY   STONE. 

It  was  a  good  four  miles  of  a  walk,  but  when 
we  reached  it  you  would  not  wish  to  see  a  more 
cosey  little  house,  all  honeysuckle  and  creepers, 
with  a  wooden  porch  and  lattice  windows.  A 
common-looking  woman  opened  the  door  for  us. 

"  Miss  Hinton  can  not  see  you,"  said  she. 

"  But  she  asked  us  to  come,"  said  Jim. 

"  I  can't  help  that,"  cried  the  woman,  in  a 
rude  voice.  "  I  tell  you  that  she  can't  see  you." 

We  stood  irresolute  for  a  minute. 

"  Maybe  you  would  just  tell  her  I  am  here," 
said  Jim  at  last. 

"  Tell  her !  How  am  I  to  tell  her  when  she 
couldn't  so  much  as  hear  a  pistol  in  her  ears. 
Try  and  tell  her  yourself,  if  you  have  a  mind  to." 
She  threw  open  a  door  as  she  spoke,  and  there 
in  a  reclining  chair  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room 
we  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  figure  all  lumped  to- 
gether, huge  and  shapeless,  with  tails  of  black 
hair  hanging  down.  The  sound  of  dreadful  swine- 
like  breathing  fell  upon  our  ears.  It  was  but  a 
glance,  and  then  we  were  off  hot-foot  for  home. 
As  for  me,  I  was  so  young  that  I  was  not  sure 
whether  this  was  funny  or  terrible,  but  when  I 
looked  at  Jim,  to  see  how  he  took  it,  he  was  look- 
ing quite  white  and  ill. 

"  You'll  not  tell  any  one,  Roddy?"  said  he. 

"  Not  unless  it's  my  mother." 


THE  PLAY  ACTRESS  OF  ANSTEY  CROSS.    45 

"  I  won't  even  tell  my  uncle.  I'll  say  she  was 
ill,  the  poor  lady !  It's  enough  that  we  should 
have  seen  her  in  her  shame,  without  its  being  the 
gossip  of  the  village.  It  makes  me  feel  sick  and 
heavy  at  heart." 

"  She  was  so  yesterday,  Jim." 

"  Was  she  ?  I  never  marked  it.  But  I  know 
that  she  has  kind  eyes  and  a  kind  heart,  for  I  saw 
the  one  in  the  other  when  she  looked  at  me. 
Maybe  it's  the  want  of  a  friend  that  has  driven 
her  to  this." 

It  blighted  his  spirits  for  days,  and  when  it 
had  all  gone  from  my  mind  it  was  brought  back 
to  me  by  his  manner.  But  it  was  not  to  be  our 
last  memory  of  the  lady  with  the  scarlet  pelisse, 
for  before  the  week  was  out  Jim  came  round  to 
ask  me  if  I  would  again  go  up  with  him. 

"  My  uncle  has  had  a  letter,"  said  he.  "  She 
would  speak  with  me,  and  I  would  be  easier  if 
you  came  with  me,  Rod." 

For  me  it  was  only  a  pleasure  outing,  but  I 
could  see,  as  we  drew  near  the  house,  that  Jim 
was  troubling  in  his  mind  lest  we  should  find  that 
things  were  amiss.  His  fears  were  soon  set  at 
rest,  however,  for  we  had  scarce  clicked  the  gar- 
den gate  before  the  woman  was  out  of  the  door 
of  the  cottage  and  running  down  the  path  to  meet 
us.  She  was  so  strange  a  figure,  with  some  sort 


46  RODNEY   STONE. 

of  purple  wrapper  on,  and  her  big  flushed  face 
smiling  out  of  it,  that  I  might,  if  I  had  been  alone, 
have  taken  to  my  heels  at  the  sight  of  her.  Even 
Jim  stopped  for  a  moment  as  if  he  were  not  very 
sure  of  himself,  but  her  hearty  ways  soon  set  us 
at  our  ease. 

"  It  is  indeed  good  of  you  to  come  and  see  an 
old  lonely  woman,"  said  she,  "  and  I  owe  you  an 
apology  that  I  should  give  you  a  fruitless  journey 
on  Tuesday,  but  in  a  sense  you  were  yourselves 
the  cause  of  it,  since  the  thought  of  your  coming 
had  excited  me,  and  any  excitement  throws  me 
into  a  nervous  fever.  My  poor  nerves !  You  can 
see  yourselves  how  they  serve  me." 

She  held  out  her  twitching  hands  as  she  spoke. 
Then  she  passed  one  of  them  through  Jim's  arm, 
and  walked  with  him  up  the  path. 

"  You  must  let  me  know  you  and  know  you 
well,"  said  she.  "  Your  uncle  and  aunt  are  quite 
old  acquaintances  of  mine,  and  though  you  can 
not  remember  me  if  I  have  held  you  in  my  arms 
when  you  were  an  infant. — Tell  me,  little  man," 
she  added,  turning  to  me,  "  what  do  you  call  your 
friend  ?  " 

"  Boy  Jim,  mam,"  said  I. 

"  Then  if  you  will  not  think  me  forward  I  will 
call  you  Boy  Jim  also.  We  elderly  people  have 
our  privileges,  you  know.  And  now  you  will 


THE   PLAY   ACTRESS   OF   ANSTEY   CROSS.        47 

come  in  with  me  and  we  will  take  a  dish  of  tea 
together." 

She  led  the  way  into  a  cosey  room,  the  same 
which  we  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  when  first  we 
came,  and  there  in  the  middle  was  a  table  with 
white  napery  and  shining  glass  and  gleaming 
china,  and  red-cheeked  apples  piled  up  on  a  cen- 
tre dish,  and  a  great  plateful  of  smoking  muffins 
which  the  cross-faced  maid  had  just  carried  in. 
You  can  think  that  we  did  justice  to  all  the  good 
things,  and  Miss  Hinton  would  ever  keep  press- 
ing us  to  pass  our  cup  and  fill  our  plate.  Twice 
during  our  meal  she  rose  from  her  chair  and 
withdrew  into  a  cupboard  at  the  end  of  the  room, 
and  each  time  I  saw  Jim's  face  cloud,  for  we 
heard  a  gentle  click  of  glass  against  glass. 

"  Come,  now,  little  man,"  said  she  to  me  when 
the  table  had  been  cleared.  "  Why  are  you  look- 
ing round  so  much  ?  " 

"  Because  there  are  so  many  pretty  things 
upon  the  walls." 

"  And  which  do  you  think  the  prettiest  of 
them  ?  " 

"  Why,  that !  "  said  I,  pointing  to  a  picture 
which  hung  opposite  to  me.  It  was  of  a  tall  and 
slender  girl,  with  the  rosiest  cheeks  and  the  ten- 
derest  eyes — so  daintily  dressed,  too,  that  I  had 
never  seen  anything  more  perfect.  She  had  a 


^g  RODNEY   STONE. 

posy  of  flowers  in  her  hand  and  another  one  was 
lying  upon  the  planks  of  wood  upon  which  she 
was  standing. 

"Oh,  that's  the  prettiest,  is  it?"  said  she, 
laughing.  "  Well,  now,  walk  up  to  it  and  let  us 
hear  what  is  writ  beneath  it." 

I  did  as  she  asked,  and  read  out :  "  Miss  Polly 
Hinton  as  Peggy,  in  the  Country  Wife,  played 
for  her  benefit  at  the  Haymarket  Theatre,  Sep- 
tember 14,  1780!  " 

"  It's  a  play  actress,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  you  rude  little  boy,  to  say  it  in  such  a 
tone  !  "  said  she  ;  "  as  if  a  play  actress  wasn't  as 
good  as  any  one  else.  Why,  'twas  but  the  other 
day  that  the  Duke  of  Clarence,  who  may  come  to 
call  himself  King  of  England,  married  Mrs.  Jor- 
dan, who  was  herself  only  a  play  actress.  And 
whom  think  you  that  this  one  is  ?  "  She  stood 
under  the  picture  with  her  arms  folded  across  her 
great  body  and  her  big  black  eyes  looking  from 
one  to  the  other  of  us. 

"Why,  where  are  your  eyes?"  she  cried  at 
last.  "  I  was  Miss  Polly  Hinton  of  the  Haymar- 
ket Theatre.  And  perhaps  you  never  heard  the 
name  before." 

We  were  compelled  to  confess  that  we  never 
had.  And  the  very  name  of  play  actress  had 
filled  us  both  with  a  kind  of  vague  horror  like  the 


THE   PLAY   ACTRESS   OF   ANSTEY   CROSS.        49 

country-bred  folk  that  we  were.  To  us  they 
were  a  class  apart,  to  be  hinted  at  rather  than 
named,  with  the  wrath  of  the  Almighty  hanging 
over  them  like  a  thundercloud.  Indeed,  his  judg- 
ments seemed  to  be  in  visible  operation  before  us 
when  we  looked  upon  what  this  woman  was  and 
what  she  had  been. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  laughing  like  one  who  is 
hurt,  "  you  have  no  cause  to  say  anything,  for  I 
read  on  your  faces  what  you  have  been  taught  to 
think  of  me.  So  this  is  the  upbringing  you  have 
had,  Jim,  to  think  evil  of  that  which  you  do  not 
understand  !  I  wish  you  had  been  in  the  theatre 
that  very  night  with  Prince  Florizel  and  four 
dukes  in  the  boxes,  and  all  the  wits  and  maca- 
ronis of  London  rising  at  me  in  the  pit.  If  Lord 
Avon  had  not  given  me  a  cast  in  his  carriage  I 
had  never  got  the  flowers  back  to  my  lodgings  in 
York  Street,  Westminster.  And  now  two  little 
country  lads  are  sitting  in  judgment  upon  me." 

Jim's  pride  brought  a  flush  to  his  cheeks,  for 
he  did  not  like  to  be  called  a  country  lad,  or  to 
have  it  supposed  that  he  was  so  far  behind  the 
grand  folk  in  London. 

"  I  have  never  been  inside  a  playhouse,"  said 
he.  "  I  know  nothing  of  them." 

"  Nor  I  either." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  am  not  in  voice,  and  it  is 


50  RODNEY  STONE. 

ill  to  play  in  a  little  room,  with  but  two  to  listen, 
but  you  must  conceive  me  to  be  the  queen  of  the 
Peruvians,  who  is  exhorting  her  countrymen  to 
rise  up  against  the  Spaniards  who  are  oppressing 
them." 

And  straightway  that  coarse,  swollen  woman 
became  a  queen,  the  grandest,  haughtiest  queen 
that  you  could  dream  of,  and  she  turned  upon  us 
with  such  words  of  fire,  such  lightning  eyes  and 
sweeping  of  her  white  hand,  that  she  held  us  spell- 
bound in  our  chairs.  Her  voice  was  soft  and 
sweet  and  persuasive  at  the  first,  but  louder  it 
rang,  and  louder,  as  it  spoke  of  wrongs  and  free- 
dom, and  the  joys  of  death  in  a  good  cause,  until 
it  thrilled  into  my  every  nerve,  and  I  asked  noth- 
ing more  than  to  run  out  of  the  cottage  and  to 
die  then  and  there  in  the  cause  of  my  country. 
And  then  in  an  instant  she  changed.  She  was  a 
poor  woman  now,  who  had  lost  her  only  child, 
and  who  was  bewailing  it.  Her  voice  was  full  of 
tears,  and  what  she  said  was  so  simple,  so  true,, 
that  we  both  seemed  to  see  the  dead  babe 
stretched  there  on  the  carpet  before  us,  and  we 
could  have  joined  in  with  words  of  pity  and  of 
grief.  And  then,  before  our  cheeks  were  dry,  she 
was  back  into  her  old  self  again. 

"  How  like  you  that,  then  ?  "  she  cried.    "  That 
was   my  way  in   the   days  when   Sally  Siddons 


THE   PLAY  ACTRESS  OF   ANSTEY  CROSS.        51 

would  turn  green  at  the  name  of  Polly  Hinton. 
It's  a  fine  play,  is  '  Pizarro.'  " 

"  And  who  wrote  it,  mam  ?  " 

"  Who  wrote  it  ?  I  never  heard.  What  mat- 
ter who  did  the  writing  of  it !  But  there  are 
some  great  lines  for  one  who  knows  how  they 
should  be  spoken." 

"  And  you  play  no  longer,  mam  ?  " 

"  No,  Jim,  I  left  the  boards  when — when  I  was 
weary  of  them.  But  my  heart  goes  back  to  them 
sometimes.  It  seems  to  me  that  there  is  no  smell 
like  that  of  the  hot  oil  in  the  footlights,  and  of  the 
oranges  in  the  pit.  But  you  are  sad,  Jim." 

"  It  was  but  the  thought  of  that  poor  woman 
and  her  child." 

"  Tut,  never  think  about  her !  I  will  soon 
wipe  her  from  your  mind.  This  is  Miss  Priscilla 
Tomboy  from  '  The  Romp.'  You  must  conceive 
that  the  mother  is  speaking,  and  that  the  forward 
young  minx  is  answering." 

And  she  began  a  scene  between  the  two  of 
them,  so  exact  in  voice  and  manner  that  it  seemed 
to  us  as  if  there  were  really  two  folk  before  us, 
the  stern  old  mother,  with  her  hand  up  like  an 
ear-trumpet,  and  her  flouncing,  bouncing  daugh- 
ter. Her  great  figure  danced  about  with  a  won- 
derful lightness,  and  she  tossed  her  head  and 
pouted  her  lips  as  she  answered  back  to  the  old 


52  RODNEY   STONE. 

bent  figure  that  addressed  her.  Jim  and  I  had 
forgotten  our  tears  and  were  holding  our  ribs  be- 
fore she  came  to  the  end  of  it. 

"  That  is  better,"  said  she,  smiling  at  our 
laughter.  "  I  would  not  have  you  go  back  to 
Friar's  Oak  with  long  faces,  or  maybe  they  would 
not  let  you  come  to  me  again."  She  vanished 
into  her  cupboard  and  came  out  with  a  bottle  and 
glass,  which  she  placed  upon  the  table. 

"  You  are  too  young  for  strong  waters,"  she 
said,  "  but  this  talking  gives  me  a  dryness 
and " 

Then  it  was  that  Boy  Jim  did  a  wonderful 
thing.  He  rose  from  his  chair  and  he  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  bottle. 

"  Don't !  "  said  he. 

She  looked  him  in  the  face,  and  I  can  still 
see  those  black  eyes  of  hers  softening  before  his 
gaze. 

"  Am  I  to  have  none  ?  " 

"  Please  don't." 

With  a  quick  movement  she  wrested  the  bot- 
tle out  of  his  hand  and  raised  it  up  so  that  for  a 
moment  it  entered  my  head  that  she  was  about  to 
drink  it  off.  Then  she  flung  it  through  the  open 
lattice,  and  we  heard  the  crash  of  it  on  the  path 
outside. 

"  There,  Jim  !  "  said  she.     "  Does  that  satisfy 


THE  PLAY  ACTRESS  OF  ANSTEY  CROSS.   53 

you  ?     It's  long  since  any  one  cared  whether  I 
drank  or  no." 

"  You  are  too  good  and  kind  for  that,"  said  he. 

"Good!"  she  cried.  "Well,  I  love  that  you 
should  think  me  so.  And  it  would  make  you 
happier  if  I  kept  from  the  brandy,  Jim  ?  Well, 
then  I'll  make  you  a  promise  if  you'll  make  me 
one  in  return." 

"  What's  that,  miss  ?  " 

"  No  drop  shall  pass  my  lips,  Jim,  if  you  will 
swear,  wet  or  shine,  blow  or  snow,  to  come  up 
here  twice  in  every  week  that  I  may  see  you  and 
speak  with  you,  for,  indeed,  there  are  times  when 
I  am  very  lonesome." 

So  the  promise  was  made,  and  very  faithfully 
did  Jim  keep  it,  for  many  a  time  when  I  have 
wanted  him  to  go  fishing  or  rabbit  snaring  he  has 
remembered  that  it  was  his  day  for  Miss  Hinton, 
and  has  tramped  off  to  Anstey  Cross.  At  first  I 
think  that  she  found  her  share  of  the  bargain 
hard  to  keep,  and  I  have  seen  Jim  come  back 
with  a  black  face  on  him,  as  if  things  were  go- 
ing amiss.  But  after  a  time  the  fight  was  won, 
as  all  fights  are  won  if  one  does  but  fight  long 
enough,  and  in  the  year  before  my  father  came 
back  Miss  Hinton  had  become  another  woman. 
And  it  was  not  her  ways  only,  but  herself  as  well, 
for  from  being  the  person  that  I  have  described, 


54  RODNEY   STONE. 

she  became  in  one  twelvemonth  as  fine  a  looking 
lady  as  there  was  in  the  whole  countryside.  Jim 
was  prouder  of  it  by  far  than  of  anything  he  had 
a  hand  in  in  his  life,  but  it  was  only  to  me  that 
he  ever  spoke  about  it,  for  he  had  that  tender- 
ness toward  her  that  one  has  for  those  whom  we 
have  helped.  And  she  helped  him  also,  for  by 
her  talk  of  the  world  and  of  what  she  had  seen, 
she  took  his  mind  away  from  the  Sussex  coun- 
tryside and  prepared  it  for  a  broader  life  be- 
yond. So  matters  stood  between  them  at  the 
time  when  peace  was  made,  and  my  father  came 
home  from  the  sea. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   PEACE   OF  AMIENS. 

MANY  a  woman's  knee  was  on  the  ground  and 
many  a  woman's  soul  spent  itself  in  joy  and  thank- 
fulness when  the  news  came  with  the  fall  of  the 
leaf  in  1801  that  the  preliminaries  of  peace  had 
been  settled.  All  England  waved  her  gladness 
by  day  and  twinkled  it  by  night.  Even  in  little 
Friar's  Oak  we  had  our  flags  flying  bravely,  and 
a  candle  in  every  window,  with  a  big  G.  R.  flut- 
tering in  the  wind  over  the  door  of  the  inn.  Folk 
were  weary  of  the  war,  for  we  had  been  at  it  for 
eight  years,  taking  Holland  and  Spain  and  France 
each  in  turn,  and  all  together.  All  that  we  had 
learned  during  that  time  was  that  our  little  army 
was  no  match  for  the  French  on  land,  and  that 
our  large  navy  was  more  than  a  match  for  them 
upon  the  water.  We  had  gained  some  credit, 
which  we  were  sorely  in  need  of  after  the 
American  business,  and  a  few  colonies,  which 
were  welcome  also  for  the  same  reason,  but  our 

5  55 


5  6  RODNEY   STONE. 

debt  had  gone  on  rising  and  our  consols  sinking 
until  even  Pitt  stood  aghast.  Still,  if  we  had 
known  that  there  never  could  be  peace  between 
Napoleon  and  ourselves,  and  that  this  was  only 
the  end  of  a  round  and  not  of  the  battle,  we 
should  have  been  better  advised  had  we  fought 
it  out  without  a  break.  As  it  was  the  French  got 
back  the  twenty  thousand  good  seamen  whom  we 
had  captured,  and  a  fine  dance  they  led  us  with 
their  Boulogne  flotillas  and  fleets  of  invasion  be- 
fore we  were  able  to  catch  them  again. 

My  father,  as  I  remember  him  best,  was  a 
tough,  strong,  little  man,  of  no  great  breadth, 
but  solid  and  well  put  together.  His  face  was 
burned  of  a  reddish  colour,  as  bright  as  a  flower- 
pot, and  in  spite  of  his  age  (for  he  was  only  forty 
at  the  time  of  which  I  speak)  it  was  shot  with 
lines  which  deepened  if  he  were  in  any  way 
perturbed,  so  that  I  have  seen  him  turn  on  the 
instant  from  a  youngish  man  to  an  elderly. 
His  eyes  especially  were  meshed  round  with 
wrinkles,  as  is  natural  for  one  who  had  puck- 
ered them  all  his  life  in  facing  foul  wind  and 
bitter  weather.  Those  eyes  were  perhaps  his 
strongest  feature,  for  they  were  of  a  very  clear 
and  beautiful  blue,  which  shone  the  brighter  out 
of  that  ruddy  setting.  By  nature  he  must  have 
been  a  fair-skinned  man,  for  his  upper  brow, 


THE   PEACE   OF   AMIENS.  57 

where  his  hat  came  over  it,  was  as  white  as 
mine,  and  his  close-cropped  hair  was  tawny. 

He  had  served,  as  he  was  proud  to  say,  in  the 
last  of  our  ships  which  had  been  chased  out  of 
the  Mediterranean  in  '97,  and  in  the  first  which 
had  re-entered  it  in  '98.  He  was  under  Miller,  as 
third  lieutenant  of  the  Theseus,  when  our  fleet, 
like  a  pack  of  eager  foxhounds  in  a  covert,  was 
dashing  from  Sicily  to  Syria,  and  back  again  to 
Naples,  trying  to  pick  up  the  lost  scent.  With 
the  same  good  fighting  man  he  served  at  the 
Nile,  where  the  men  of  his  command  sponged 
and  rammed  and  trained  until,  when  the  last  tri- 
colour had  come  down,  they  hove  up  the  sheet 
anchor  and  fell  dead  asleep  upon  the  top  of  each 
other  under  the  capstan  bars.  Then,  as  a  second 
lieutenant,  he  was  in  one  of  these  grim  three- 
deckers  with  powder-blackened  hulls  and  crim- 
son scupper  holes,  their  spare  cables  tied  round 
their  keels  and  over  their  bulwarks,  to  hold  them 
together,  which  carried  the  news  into  the  bay  of 
Naples.  Thence,  as  a  reward  for  his  services,  he 
was  transferred  as  first  lieutenant  to  the  Aurora 
frigate,  engaged  in  cutting  off  supplies  from 
Genoa,  and  in  her  he^ll  remained  until  long 
after  peace  was  declared. 

How  well  I  can  remember  his  home-coming ! 
Though  it  is  now  eight  and  forty  years  ago,  it 


58  RODNEY   STONE. 

is  clearer  to  me  than  the  doings  of  last  week,  for 
the  memory  of  an  old  man  is  like  one  of  those 
glasses  which  shows  out  what  is  at  a  distance  and 
blurs  all  that  is  near. 

My  mother  had  been  in  a  tremble  ever  since 
the  first  rumour  of  the  preliminaries  came  to  our 
ears,  for  she  knew  that  he  might  come  as  soon 
as  his  message.  She  said  little,  but  she  saddened 
my  life  by  insisting  that  I  should  be  forever  clean 
and  tidy.  With  every  rumble  of  wheels,  too,  her 
eyes  would  fly  toward  the  door  and  her  hands 
steal  up  to  smooth  her  pretty  black  hair.  She 
had  embroidered  a  white  "  welcome "  upon  a 
blue  ground,  with  an  anchor  in  red  upon  each 
side,  and  a  border  of  laurel  leaves,  and  this  was 
to  hang  upon  the  two  lilac  bushes  which  flanked 
the  cottage  door.  He  could  not  have  left  the 
Mediterranean  before  we  had  this  finished,  and 
every  morning  she  looked  to  see  if  it  were  in  its 
place  and  ready  to  be  hanged. 

But  it  was  a  weary  time  before  the  peace  was 
ratified,  and  it  was  April  of  next  year  before  our 
great  day  came  round  to  us.  It  had  been  rain- 
ing all  morning,  I  remember — a  soft,  spring  rain, 
which  sent  up  a  rich  smell  from  the  brown  earth, 
and  pattered  pleasantly  upon  the  budding  chest- 
nuts behind  our  cottage.  The  sun  had  shone  out 
in  the  evening,  and  I  had  come  down  with  my 


THE   PEACE   OF   AMIENS.  59 

fishing  rod  (for  I  had  promised  Boy  Jim  to  go 
with  him  to  the  millstream),  when  what  should 
I  see  but  a  postchaise  with  two  smoking  horses 
at  the  gate,  and  there  in  the  open  door  of  it  were 
my  mother's  black  skirt  and  her  little  feet  jutting 
out,  with  two  blue  arms  for  a  waist  belt,  and  all 
the  rest  of  her  buried  in  the  chaise !  Away  I  ran 
for  the  motto,  and  I  pinned  it  up  on  the  bushes 
as  we  had  agreed.  When  I  had  finished  there 
were  the  skirts  and  the  feet  and  the  blue  arms 
just  the  same  as  before. 

"  Here's  Rod,"  said  my  mother  at  last,  strug- 
gling down  on  to  the  ground  again.  "  Roddy, 
darling,  here's  your  father !  " 

I  saw  the  red  face  and  the  kindly  light  blue 
eyes  looking  out  at  me.  "  Why,  Roddy,  lad,  you 
were  but  a  child,  and  we  kissed  good-bye  when 
last  we  met,  but  I  suppose  we  must  put  you  on 
a  different  rating  now.  I'm  right  glad  from  my 
heart  to  see  you,  dear  lad,  and  as  to  you,  sweet- 
heart  ! "  The  blue  arms  flew  out  and  there 

were  the  skirt  and  the  two  feet  fixed  in  the  door 
again. 

"  Here  are  the  folk  coming,  Anson,"  said  my 
mother,  blushing.  "  Won't  you  get  out  and  come 
in  with  us?" 

And  then  suddenly  it  came  home  to  us  both 
that  for  all  his  cheery  face  he  had  never  moved 


6o  RODNEY   STONE. 

more  than  his  arms,  and  that  his  leg  was  resting 
on  the  opposite  seat  of  the  chaise. 

"  O  Anson,  Anson,!  "  she  cried. 

"  Tut,  'tis  but  the  bone  of  my  leg,"  said  he, 
taking  his  knee  between  his  hands  and  lifting 
it  round.  "  I  got  it  broke  in  the  bay,  but  the 
surgeon  has  fished  it  and  spliced  it,  though  it's 
a  bit  crank  yet.  Why,  bless  her  kindly  heart,  if 
I  haven't  turned  her  from  pink  to  white.  You 
can  see  for  yourself  that  it's  nothing!  " 

He  sprang  out  as  he  spoke,  and  with  one  leg 
and  a  staff  he  hopped  swiftly  up  the  path,  and 
under  the  laurel-bordered  motto,  and  so  over 
his  own  threshold  for  the  first  time  for  five 
years.  When  the  postboy  and  I  had  carried 
up  the  sea  chest  and  the  two  canvas  bags  there 
he  was  sitting  in  his  armchair  by  the  window  in 
his  old  weather-stained  blue  coat.  My  mother 
was  weeping  over  his  poor  leg,  and  he  patting 
her  hair  with  one  brown  hand.  His  other  he 
threw  round  my  waist  and  drew  me  to  the  side 
of  his  chair. 

"  Now  that  we  have  peace  I  can  lie  up  and 
refit  until  King  George  wants  me  again,"  said 
he.  "  'Twas  a  carronade  that  came  adrift  in  the 
bay  when  it  was  blowing  a  topgallant  breeze 
with  a  beam  sea.  Ere  we  could  make  it  fast  it 
had  me  jammed  against  the  mast.  Well,  well ! " 


THE    PEACE   OF   AMIENS.  6 1 

he  added,  looking  around  at  the  walls  of  the 
room.  "  Here  are  all  my  old  curios,  the  same 
as  ever,  the  narwhal's  horn  from  the  Arctic,  and 
the  blowfish  from  the  Moluccas,  and  the  paddles 
from  Fiji,  and  the  picture  of  the  Ca  Ira  with 
Lord  Hobham  in  chase.  And  here  you  are, 
Mary,  and  you  also,  Roddy,  and  good  luck  to 
the  carronade  which  has  sent  me  into  so  snug 
a  harbour  without  fear  of  sailing  orders." 

My  mother  had  his  long  pipe  and  his  tobacco 
all  ready  for  him,  so  that  he  was  able  now  to  light 
it,  and  to  sit  looking  from  one  of  us  to  the  other 
and  then  back  again,  as  if  he  could  never  see 
enough  of  us.  Young  as  I  was,  I  could  still  un- 
derstand that  this  was  the  moment  which  he  had 
thought  of  during  many  a  lonely  watch,  and  that 
the  expectation  of  it  had  cheered  his  heart  in 
many  a  dark  hour.  Sometimes  he  would  touch 
one  of  us  with  his  hand,  and  sometimes  the 
other,  and  so  he  sat,  with  his  soul  too  satiated 
for  words,  while  the  shadows  gathered  in  the 
little  room,  and  the  lights  of  the  inn  windows 
glimmered  through  the  gloom.  And  then,  after 
my  mother  had  lit  our  own  lamp,  she  slipped 
suddenly  down  upon  her  knees,  and  he  got  one 
knee  to  the  ground  also,  so  that,  hand  in  hand, 
they  joined  their  thanks  to  Heaven  for  manifold 
mercies.  When  I  look  back  at  my  parents  as 


62  RODNEY   STONE. 

they  were  in  those  days,  it  is  at  that  very  mo- 
ment that  I  can  picture  them  most  clearly,  her 
sweet  face,  with  the  wet  shining  upon  her  cheeks, 
and  his  blue  eyes  upturned  to  the  smoke-black- 
ened ceiling.  I  remember  that  he  swayed  his 
reeking  pipe  in  the  earnestness  of  his  prayer,  so 
that  I  was  half  tears  and  half  smiles  as  I  watched 
him. 

"  Roddy,  lad,"  said  he,  after  supper  was  over, 
"you're  getting  a  man  now,  and  I  suppose  you 
will  go  afloat  like  the  rest  of  us.  You're  old 
enough  to  strap  a  dirk  to  your  thigh." 

"And  leave  me  without  a  child  as  well  as 
without  a  husband  ?  "  cried  my  mother. 

"Well,  there's  time  enough  yet,"  said  he,  "for 
they  are  more  inclined  to  empty  berths  than  to 
fill  them,  now  that  peace  has  come.  But  I've 
never  tried  what  all  this  schooling  has  done  for 
you,  Rodney.  You  have  had  a  great  deal  more 
than  ever  I  had,  but  I  dare  say  I  can  make  shift 
to  test  it.  Have  you  learned  history?" 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  I,  with  some  confidence. 

"  Then  how  many  sail  of  the  line  were  at  the 
battle  of  Camperdown  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head  gravely  when  he  found 
that  I  could  not  answer  him. 

"  Why,  there  are  men  in  the  fleet  who  never 
had  any  schooling  at  all  who  could  tell  you  that 


THE   PEACE   OF   AMIENS.  63 

we  had  seven  seventy-fours,  seven  sixty-fours, 
and  two  fifty-gun  ships  in  the  action.  There's  a 
picture  on  the  wall  of  the  chase  of  the  Qa  Ira. 
Which  were  the  ships  that  laid  her  aboard  ?  " 

Again  I  had  to  confess  that  he  had  beaten  me. 

"  Well,  your  dad  can  teach  you  something  in 
history  yet,"  he  cried,  looking  in  triumph  at  my 
mother.  "  Have  you  learned  geography  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father,"  said  I,  though  with  less  confi- 
dence than  before. 

"  Well,  how  far  is  it  from  Port  Mahon  to 
Algeciras  ?  " 

I  could  only  shake  my  head. 

"  If  Ushant  lay  three  leagues  upon  your  star- 
board quarter,  what  would  be  your  nearest  Eng- 
lish port?" 

Again  I  had  to  give  it  up. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  that  your  geography  is 
much  better  than  your  history,"  said  he.  "  You'd 
never  get  your  certificate  at  this  rate.  Can  you 
do  addition  ?  Well,  then,  let  us  see  if  you  can  tot 
up  my  prize  money." 

He  shot  a  mischievous  glance  at  my  mother 
as  he  spoke,  and  she  laid  down  her  knitting  in 
her  lap  and  looked  very  earnestly  at  him. 

"  You  never  asked  me  about  that,  Mary," 
said  he. 

"  The  Mediterranean  is  not  the  station  for  it, 


64  RODNEY  STONE. 

Anson.  I  have  heard  you  say  it  is  the  Atlantic 
for  prize  money  and  the  Mediterranean  for  hon- 
our." 

"  I  had  a  share  of  both  last  cruise,  which 
comes  from  changing  a  line-of-battle  ship  for  a 
frigate.  Now,  Rodney,  there  are  two  pounds  in 
every  hundred  due  to  me  when  the  prize  courts 
have  done  with  them.  When  we  were  watching 
Massena  off  Genoa  we  got  a  matter  of  seventy 
schooners,  brigs,  and  tartans,  with  wine,  food, 
and  powder.  Lord  Keith  will  want  his  finger  in 
the  pie,  but  that's  for  the  courts  to  settle.  Put 
them  at  four  pounds  apiece  to  me,  and  what  will 
the  seventy  bring  ?  " 

"  Two  hundred  and  eighty  pounds,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"  Why,  Anson,  it  is  a  fortune ! "  cried  my 
mother,  clapping  her  hands. 

"  Try  it  again,  Roddy  ! "  said  he,  shaking  his 
pipe  at  me.  "There  was  the  xebec  frigate  out 
of  Barcelona,  with  twenty  thousand  Spanish  dol- 
lars aboard,  which  make  four  thousand  of  our 
pounds.  Her  hull  should  be  worth  another 
thousand.  What's  my  share  of  that?  " 

"A  hundred  pounds." 

"  Why,  the  purser  couldn't  work  it  out 
quicker,"  he  cried  in  his  delight.  "  Here's  for 
you  again !  We  passed  the  straits  and  worked 


THE   PEACE   OF   AMIENS.  6$ 

up  to  the  Azores,  where  we  fell  in  with  the  La 
Sabina,  from  the  Mauritius,  with  sugar  and 
spices.  Twelve  hundred  pounds  she's  worth  to 
me,  Mary,  my  darling,  and  never  again  shall  you 
soil  your  pretty  fingers  or  pinch  upon  my  beg- 
garly pay." 

My  dear  mother  had  borne  her  long  struggle 
without  a  sign  all  these  years,  but  now  that  she 
was  so  suddenly  eased  of  it  she  fell  sobbing  upon 
his  neck.  It  was  a  long  time  before  my  father 
had  a  thought  to  spare  upon  my  examination  in 
arithmetic. 

"  It's  all  in  your  lap,  Mary,"  said  he,  dashing 
his  own  hand  across  his  eyes.  "  By  George !  lass, 
when  this  leg  of  mine  is  sound  we'll  bear  down 
for  a  spell  to  Brighton,  and  if  there  is  a  smarter 
frock  than  yours  upon  the  Steyne  may  I  never 
tread  a  poop  again.  But  how  is  it  that  you  are 
so  quick  at  figures,  Rodney,  when  you  know 
nothing  of  history  or  geography  ?  " 

I  tried  to  explain  that  addition  was  the  same 
upon  sea  or  land,  but  that  history  and  geography 
were  not. 

"  Well,"  he  concluded,  "  you  need  figures  to 
take  a  reckoning,  and  you  need  nothing  else  save 
what  your  mother  wit  will  teach  you.  There 
never  was  one  of  our  breed  who  did  not  take  to 
salt  water  like  a  young  gull.  Lord  Nelson  has 


66  RODNEY  STONE. 

promised  me  a  vacancy  for  you,  and  he'll  be  as 
good  as  his  word." 

So  it  was  that  my  father  came  home  to  us, 
and  a  better  or  kinder  no  lad  could  wish  for. 
Though  my  parents  had  been  married  so  long 
they  had  really  seen  very  little  of  each  other,  and 
their  affection  was  as  warm  and  fresh  as  if  they 
were  two  newly  wedded  lovers.  I  have  learned 
since  that  sailors  can  be  coarse  and  foul,  but 
never  did  I  know  it  from  my  father,  for,  although 
he  had  seen  as  much  rough  work  as  the  wildest 
could  wish  for,  he  was  always  the  same  patient, 
good-humoured  man,  with  a  smile  and  a  kindly 
word  for  all  the  village.  He  could  suit  himself 
to  his  company,  too,  for  on  the  one  hand  he 
could  take  his  wine  with  the  vicar,  or  with  Sir 
James  Ovington,  the  squire  of  the  parish,  while 
on  the  other  he  would  sit  by  the  hour  among 
my  humble  friends  down  in  the  smithy,  with 
Champion  Harrison,  Boy  Jim  and  the  rest  of 
them,  telling  them  such  stories  of  Nelson  and 
his  men  that  I  have  seen  the  champion  knot  his 
great  hands  together,  while  Jim's  eyes  have 
smouldered  like  the  forge  embers  as  he  listened. 

My  father  had  been  placed  on  half-pay,  like 
so  many  other  of  the  old  war  officers,  and  so 
for  nearly  two  years  he  was  able  to  remain  with 
us.  During  all  this  time  I  can  only  once  re- 


THE   PEACE   OF   AMIENS.  67 

member  that  there  was  the  slightest  disagree- 
ment between  him  and  my  mother.  It  chanced 
that  I  was  the  cause  of  it,  and  as  great  events 
sprang  out  of  it,  I  must  tell  you  how  it  came 
about.  It  was  indeed  the  first  of  a  series  of 
events  which  affected  not  only  my  fortunes, 
but  those  of  very  much  more  important  peo- 
ple. 

The  spring  of  1803  was  an  early  one,  and 
the  middle  of  April  saw  the  leaves  thick  upon 
the  chestnut  trees.  One  evening  we  were  all 
seated  over  a  dish  of  tea  when  we  heard  the 
scrunch  of  steps  outside  our  door,  and  there 
was  the  postman  with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  I  think  it  is  for  me,"  said  my  mother,  and, 
sure  enough,  it  was  addressed,  in  the  most  beau- 
tiful writing,  to  Mrs.  Mary  Stone  of  Friar's  Oak, 
and  there  was  a  red  seal  the  size  of  a  half-crown 
upon  the  outside  of  it,  with  a  flying  dragon  in 
the  middle. 

"Whom  think  you  that  it  is  from,  Anson?" 
she  asked. 

"  I  had  hoped  it  was  for  me  and  from  Lord 
Nelson,"  answered  my  father.  "  It  is  time  the 
boy  had  his  commission.  But  if  it  be  for  you 
then  it  can  not  be  from  any  one  of  much  im- 
portance." 

"  Can  it   not ! "   she   cried,  pretending   to   be 


68  RODNEY    STONE. 

offended.  "  You  will  ask  my  pardon  for  that 
speech,  sir,  for  it  is  from  no  less  a  person  than 
Sir  Charles  Tregellis,  my  own  brother." 

My  mother  spoke  with  a  hushed  voice  when 
she  mentioned  this  wonderful  brother  of  hers, 
and  always  had  done  so  as  long-  as  I  can  re- 
member, so  that  I  had  learned  also  to  have  a 
subdued  and  reverent  feeling  when  I  heard  his 
name.  And  indeed  it  was  no  wonder,  for  that 
name  was  never  mentioned  unless  it  were  in 
connection  with  something  brilliant  and  extra- 
ordinary. Once  we  heard  that  he  was  at  Wind- 
sor with  the  king.  Often  he  was  at  Brighton 
with  the  prince.  Sometimes  it  was  as  a  sports- 
man that  his  reputation  reached  us,  as  when  his 
Meteor  beat  the  Duke  of  Queensberry's  Egham 
at  Newmarket,  or  when  he  brought  Jim  Belcher 
up  from  Bristol  and  sprung  him  upon  the  Lon- 
don Fancy.  But  usually  it  was  as  the  friend  of 
the  great,  the  arbiter  of  fashions,  the  king  of 
bucks  and  the  best  dressed  man  in  town  that 
his  reputation  reached  us.  My  father,  however, 
did  not  appear  to  be  elated  at  my  mother's  tri- 
umphant rejoinder. 

"Ay,  and  what  does  he  want?"  asked  he, 
in  no  very  amiable  voice. 

"  I  wrote  to  him,  Anson,  and  told  him  that 
Rodney  was  growing  a  man  now,  thinking  that 


THE   PEACE   OF   AMIENS.  69 

since    he    had  no  wife    or  child  of   his   own   he 
might  be  disposed  to  advance  him." 

"  We  can  do  very  well  without  him,"  growled 
my  father.  "  He  sheered  off  from  us  when  the 
weather  was  foul,  and  we  have  no  need  of  him 
now  that  the  sun  is  shining." 

"  Nay,  you  misjudge  him,  Anson,"  said  my 
mother,  warmly.  "  There  is  no  one  with  a  bet- 
ter heart  than  Charles,  but  his  own  life  moves 
so  smoothly  that  he  can  not .  understand  that 
others  may  have  trouble.  During  all  these 
years  I  have  known  that  I  had  but  to  say  the 
word  to  receive  as  much  as  I  wished  from  him." 

"  Thank  God  that  you  never  had  to  stoop  to 
it,  Mary  !  I  want  none  of  his  help." 

"  But  we  must  think  of  Rodney." 

"  Rodney  has  enough  for  his  sea  chest  and 
kit.  He  needs  no  more." 

"  But  Charles  has  great  power  and  influence 
in  London.  He  could  make  Rodney  known  to 
all  the  great  people.  Surely  you  would  not 
stand  in  the  way  of  his  advancement." 

"  Let  us  hear  what  he  says,  then,"  said  my 
father,  and  this  was  the  letter  which  she  read 
to  him : 

14  JERMYN  ST.,  ST.  JAMES',  Aptil  15,  i8oj. 

MY  DEAR  SISTER  MARY:  In  answer  to  your 
letter  I  can  assure  you  that  you  must  not  con- 


70  RODNEY   STONE. 

ceive  me  to  be  wanting  in  those  finer  feelings 
which  are  the  chief  adornment  of  humanity.  It 
is  true  that  for  some  years,  absorbed  as  I  have 
been  in  affairs  of  the  highest  importance,  I  have 
seldom  taken  a  pen  in  hand,  for  which  I  can 
assure  you  that  I  have  been  reproached  by  many 
des  plus  charmantes  of  your  charming  sex.  At 
the  present  moment  I  lie  abed  (having  stayed 
late  in  order  to  pay  a  compliment  to  the  Mar- 
chioness of  Dover  at  her  ball  last  night),  and 
this  is  writ  to  my  dictation  by  Ambrose,  my 
clever  rascal  of  a  valet.  I  am  interested  to  hear 
of  my  nephew  Rodney  (mon  Dieu,  quel  nom  I), 
and  as  I  shall  be  on  my  way  to  visit  the  prince 
at  Brighton  next  week,  I  shall  break  my  jour- 
ney at  Friar's  Oak  for  the  sake  of  seeing  both 
you  and  him.  Make  my  compliments  to  your 
husband.  I  am  ever,  my  dear  sister  Mary,  your 
brother,  CHARLES  TREGELLIS. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that  ? "  cried  my 
mother  in  triumph,  when  she  had  finished. 

"  I  think  it  is  the  letter  of  a  fop,"  said  my 
father,  blunty. 

"  You  are  too  hard  on  him,  Anson.  You  will 
think  better  of  him  when  you  know  him.  But  he 
says  that  he  will  be  here  next  week,  and  this  is 
Thursday,  and  the  best  curtains  unhung,  and  no 


THE   PEACE   OF   AMIENS.  71 

lavender  in  the  sheets  !  "  Away  she  bustled,  half 
distracted,  while  my  father  sat  moody,  with  his 
chin  upon  his  hands,  and  I  remained  lost  in  won- 
der at  the  thought  of  this  grand  new  relative  from 
London  and  of  all  that  his  coming  might  mean 
to  us. 


CHAPTER  V. 

BUCK   TREGELLIS. 

Now  that  I  was  in  my  seventeenth  year,  and 
had  already  some  need  for  a  razor,  1  had  begun 
to  weary  of  the  narrow  life  of  the  village,  and  to 
long  to  see  something  of  the  great  world  beyond. 
And  the  craving  was  all  the  stronger  because  I 
durst  not  speak  openly  about  it,  for  the  least  hint 
of  it  brought  the  tears  into  my  mother's  eyes. 
But  now  there  was  the  less  reason  that  I  should 
stay  at  home,  since  my  father  was  at  her  side,  and 
so  my  mind  was  all  filled  by  this  prospect  of  my 
uncle's  visit,  and  of  the  chance  that  he  might  set 
my  feet  moving  at  last  upon  the  road  of  life. 

As  you  may  think  it  was  toward  my  father's 
profession  that  my  thoughts  and  my  hopes 
turned,  for  from  my  childhood  I  have  never  seen 
the  heave  of  the  sea  or  tasted  the  salt  upon  my 
lips  without  feeling  the  blood  of  five  generations 
of  seamen  thrill  within  my  veins.  And  think  of 

the  challenge  which  was  ever  waving  in  those 

72 


BUCK   TREGELLIS.  73 

days  before  the  eyes  of  a  coast-living  lad  !  I  had 
but  to  walk  up  to  Wolstonbury  in  the  war  time 
to  see  the  sails  of  the  French  chasse-mare'es  and 
privateers.  Again  and  again  I  have  heard  the 
roar  of  the  guns  coming  from  far  out  over  the 
waters.  Seamen  would  tell  us  how  they  had  left 
London  and  been  engaged  ere  nightfall,  or  sailed 
out  of  Portsmouth  and  been  yardarm  to  yardarm 
before  they  had  lost  sight  of  St.  Helen's  light.  It 
was  this  imminence  of  the  danger  which  warmed 
our  hearts  to  our  sailors,  and  made  us  talk  round 
the  winter  fires  of  our  little  Nelson  and  Cuddie 
Collingwood  and  Johnnie  Jarvis,  and  the  rest 
of  Jhem,  not  as  being  great  high  admirals  with 
titles  and  dignities,  but  as  good  friends  whom 
we  loved  and  honoured  above  all  others.  What 
boy  was  there  through  the  length  and  breadth 
of  Britain  who  did  not  long  to  be  out  with 
them  under  the  red  cross  flag! 

But  now  that  peace  had  come,  and  the  fleets 
which  had  swept  the  channel  and  the  Mediter- 
ranean were  lying  dismantled  in  our  harbours, 
there  was  less  to  draw  one's  fancy  seaward. 
It  was  London  now  of  which  I  thought  by  day 
and  brooded  by  night,  the  huge  city,  the  home 
of  the  wise  and  the  great,  from  which  came 
this  constant  stream  of  carriages  and  those 
crowds  of  dusty  people  who  were  forever  flash- 


~4  RODNEY  STONE. 

ing  past  our  window  pane.  It  was  this  one  side 
of  life  which  first  presented  itself  to  me,  and 
so  as  a  boy  I  used  to  picture  the  city  as  a  gi- 
gantic stable  with  a  huge  huddle  of  coaches, 
which  were  forever  streaming  off  down  the 
country  roads.  But  then  Champion  Harrison 
told  me  how  the  fighting  men  lived  there,  and 
my  father  how  the  heads  of  the  navy  lived  there, 
and  my  mother  how  her  brother  and  his  grand 
friends  were  there,  until  at  last  I  was  consumed 
with  impatience  to  see  this  marvellous  heart  of 
England.  This  coming  of  my  uncle  then  was 
the  breaking  of  light  through  the  darkness, 
though  I  hardly  dared  to  hope  that  he  would 
take  me  with  him  into  those  high  circles  in 
which  he  lived.  My  mother,  however,  had  such 
confidence  either  in  his  good  nature  or  in  her 
own  powers  of  persuasion  that  she  already  be- 
gan to  make  furtive  preparations  for  my  de- 
parture. 

But  if  the  narrowness  of  the  village  life  chafed 
my  easy  spirit  it  was  a  torture  to  the  keen  and 
ardent  mind  of  Boy  Jim.  It  was  but  a  few  days 
after  the  coming  of  my  uncle's  letter  that  we 
walked  over  the  Downs  together,  and  I  had  a 
peep  of  the  bitterness  of  his  heart. 

"What  is  there  for  me  to  do,  Rodney?"  he 
cried.  "  I  forge  a  shoe  and  I  fuller  it,  and  I  clip 


BUCK  TREGELLIS.  75 

it,  and  I  calkin  it,  and  I  knock  five  holes  in  it, 
and  there  it  is  finished.  Then  I  do  it  again  and 
again,  and  blow  up  the  bellows  and  feed  the 
forge,  and  rasp  a  hoof  or  two,  and  there  it  is 
done,  and  every  day  the  same  as  the  other.  Was 
it  for  this  only,  do  you  think,  that  I  was  born 
into  the  world  ?  " 

I  looked  at  him,  his  proud,  eagle  face,  and  his 
tall,  sinewy  figure,  and  I  wondered  whether  in 
the  whole  land  there  was  a  finer,  handsomer  man. 

"  The  army  or  the  navy  is  the  place  for  you, 
Jim,"  said  I. 

"  That  is  very  well,"  he  cried  ;  "  if  you  go  into 
the  navy,  as  you  are  likely  to  do,  you  go  as  an 
officer,  and  it  is  you  who  do  the  ordering.  If 
I  go  in,  it  is  as  one  who  was  born  to  receive 
orders." 

"  An  officer  gets  his  orders  from  those  above 
him." 

"  But  an  officer  does  not  have  the  lash  hung 
over  his  head.  I  saw  a  poor  devil  at  the  inn  here 
— it  was  some  years  ago — who  showed  us  his 
back  in  the  taproom,  slashed  into  red  diamonds 
with  the  boatswain's  whip.  '  Who  ordered  that?  ' 
I  asked.  '  The  captain,'  said  he.  '  And  what 
would  you  have  had  if  you  had  struck  him 
dead?'  said  I. 

" '  The  yardarm,'  he   answered.      'Then,  if  I 


76  RODNEY  STONE. 

had  been  you  that's  where  I  should  have  been,' 
said  I,  and  I  spoke  the  truth.  I  can't  help  it, 
Rod !  There's  something  here  in  my  heart, 
something  that  is  as  much  a  part  of  myself  as  this 
hand  is,  which  holds  me  to  it." 

"  I  know  that  you  are  as  proud  as  Lucifer," 
said  I. 

"  It  was  born  with  me,  Roddy,  and  I  can't 
help  it.  Life  would  be  easier  if  I  could.  I  was 
made  to  be  my  own  master,  and  there's  only  one 
place  where  I  can  hope  to  be  so." 

"Where  is  that,  Jim?" 

"  In  London.  Miss  Hinton  has  told  me  of  it 
until  I  feel  as  if  I  could  find  my  way  through  it 
from  end  to  end.  She  loves  to  talk  of  it  as  well 
as  I  do  to  listen.  I  have  it  all  laid  out  in  my 
mind,  and  I  can  see  where  the  playhouses  are, 
and  how  the  river  runs,  and  where  the  king's 
house  is,  and  the  prince's,  and  the  place  where 
the  fighting  men  live.  I  could  make  my  name 
known  in  London." 

"How?" 

"  Never  mind  how,  Rod,  I  could  do  it,  and  I 
will  do  it,  too.  '  Wait,'  says  my  uncle,  '  wait, 
and  it  will  all  come  right  for  you.'  That  is  what 
he  always  says,  and  my  aunt  the  same.  Why 
should  I  wait?  What  am  I  to  wait  for?  No, 
Roddy,  I'll  stay  no  longer  eating  my  heart  out  in 


BUCK   TREGELLIS. 


77 


this  little  village,  but  I'll  leave  my  apron  behind 
me  and  I'll  seek  my  fortune  in  London,  and  when 
I  come  back  to  Friar's  Oak  it  will  be  in  such  style 
as  that  gentleman  yonder." 

He  pointed  as  he  spoke,  and  there  was  a  high 
crimson  curricle  coming  down  the  London  road, 
with  two  bay  horses  harnessed  tandem  fashion 
before  it.  The  reins  and  fittings  were  of  a  light 
fawn-colour,  and  the  gentleman  had  a  driving 
coat  to  match,  with  a  servant  in  dark  livery  be- 
hind. They  flashed  past  us  in  a  rolling  cloud  of 
dust,  and  I  had  just  a  glimpse  of  the  pale,  hand- 
some face  of  the  master,  and  of  the  dark,  shriv- 
elled features  of  the  man.  I  should  never  have 
given  them  another  thought  had  it  not  chanced 
that  when  the  village  came  into  view  there  was 
the  curricle  again  standing  at  the  door  of  the  inn, 
and  the  grooms  busy  taking  out  the  horses. 

"Jim,"  I  cried,  "  I  believe  it  is  my  uncle!"  and 
taking  to  my  heels  I  ran  for  home  at  the  top  of 
my  speed.  At  the  door  was  standing  the  dark- 
faced  servant.  He  carried  a  cushion  upon  which 
lay  a  small  fluffy  lapdog. 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  young  sir,"  said  he,  in 
the  suavest,  most  soothing  of  voices,  "  but  am  I 
right  in  supposing  that  this  is  the  house  of  Lieu- 
tenant Stone  ?  In  that  case  you  will,  perhaps,  do 
me  the  favour  to  hand  to  Mrs.  Stone  this  rlote, 


78  RODNEY  STONE. 

which  her  brother,  Sir  Charles  Tregellis,  has  just 
committed  to  my  care." 

I  was  quite  abashed  by  the  man's  flowery  way 
of  talking,  so  unlike  anything  which  I  had  ever 
heard.  He  had  a  wizened  face  and  sharp  little 
dark  eyes  which  took  in  me  and  the  house  and 
my  mother's  startled  face  at  the  window  all  in  the 
instant.  My  parents  were  together,  the  two  of 
them,  in  the  sitting-room,  and  my  mother  read 
the  note  to  us. 

"  My  dear  Mary,"  it  ran,  "  I  have  stopped  at 
the  inn,  because  I  am  somewhat  ravag6  by  the 
dust  of  your  Sussex  roads.  A  lavender-water 
bath  may  restore  me  to  a  condition  in  which  I 
may  fitly  pay  my  compliments  to  a  lady.  Mean- 
time I  send  you  Fidelio  as  a  hostage.  Pray  give 
him  a  half-pint  of  warmish  milk,  with  six  drops  of 
pure  brandy  in  it.  A  better  or  more  faithful  crea- 
ture never  lived.  Toujours  a  toi,  Charles." 

"  Have  him  in  !  Have  him  in  !  "  cried  my 
father  heartily,  running  to  the  door.  "  Come  in, 
Mr.  Fidelio.  Every  man  to  his  own  taste,  and  six 
drops  to  the  half-pint  seems  a  sinful  watering  of 
grog,  but  if  you  like  it,  so  you  shall  have  it." 

A  smile  flickered  over  the  dark  face  of  the 
servant,  but  his  features  reset  themselves  in- 
stantly into  their  usual  mask  of  respectful  observ- 
ance. 


BUCK   TREGELLIS.  79 

"  You  are  labouring  under  a  slight  error,  sir, 
if  you  will  permit  me  to  say  so.  My  name  is 
Ambrose,  and  I  have  the  honour  to  be  the  valet 
of  Sir  Charles  Tregellis.  This  is  Fidelio  upon  the 
cushion." 

"  Tut,  the  dog  !  "  cried  my  father  in  disgust. 
"  Heave  him  down  by  the  fireside.  Why  should 
he  have  brandy  when  many  a  Christian  has  to  go 
without?" 

"  Hush,  Anson  !  "  said  my  mother,  taking  the 
cushion. — "  You  will  tell  Sir  Charles  that  his 
wishes  will  be  carried  out,  and  that  we  shall  ex- 
pect him  at  his  own  convenience." 

The  man  went  off  noiselessly  and  swiftly, 
but  was  back  in  a  few  minutes  with  a  flat  brown 
basket. 

"  It  is  the  refection,  madame,"  said  he.  "  Will 
you  permit  me  to  lay  the  table  ?  Sir  Charles  is 
accustomed  to  partake  of  certain  dishes  and  to 
drink  certain  wines,  so  that  we  usually  bring 
them  with  us  when  we  visit."  He  opened  the 
basket,  and  in  a  minute  he  had  the  table  shining 
with  silver  and  glass  and  studded  with  dishes. 
So  quick  and  neat  and  silent  was  he  in  all  that 
he  did  that  my  father  was  as  taken  with  him  as 
I  was. 

"  You'd  have  made  a  right  good  foretopman, 
if  your  heart  is  as  stout  as  your  fingers  are  quick," 


go  RODNEY   STONE. 

said  he.  "  Did  you  never  wish  to  have  the  hon- 
our of  serving  your  country  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  honour,  sir,  to  serve  Sir  Charles 
Tregellis,  and  I  desire  no  other  master,"  he  an- 
swered. "  But  I  will  convey  his  dressing  case 
from  the  inn,  and  then  all  will  be  ready." 

He  came  back  with  a  great  silver-mounted  box 
under  his  arm,  and  close  at  his  heels  was  the  gen- 
tleman whose  coming  had  made  such  a  disturb- 
ance. 

My  first  impression  of  my  uncle  as  he  entered 
the  room  was  that  one  of  his  eyes  was  swollen  to 
the  size  of  an  apple.  It  took  the  breath  from  my 
lips,  that  monstrous,  glistening  eye.  But  the  next 
instant  I  perceived  that  he  held  a  round  glass  in 
front  of  it,  which  magnified  it  in  this  fashion.  He 
looked  at  us  each  in  turn,  and  then  he  bowed  very 
gracefully  to  my  mother  and  kissed  her  upon 
either  cheek. 

"  You  will  permit  me  to  compliment  you,  my 
dear  Mary,"  said  he  in  a  voice  which  was  the 
most  mellow  and  beautiful  that  I  have  ever  heard. 
"  I  can  assure  you  that  the  country  air  has  used 
you  wondrous  well,  and  that  I  should  be  proud 
to  see  my  pretty  sister  in  the  Mall. — I  am  your 
servant,  sir,"  he  continued,  holding  out  his  hand 
to  my  father.  "  It  was  but  last  week  that  I  had 
the  honour  of  dining  with  my  friend  Lord  St. 


"  1  find  him  very  passable,  Mary. 


BUCK   TREGELLIS.  8 1 

Vincent,  and  I  took  occasion  to  mention  you  to 
him.  I  may  tell  you  that  your  name  is  not  for- 
gotten at  the  admiralty,  sir,  and  I  hope  that  I 
may  see  you  soon  walking  the  poop  of  a  seven- 
ty-four gunship  of  your  own. — So  this  is  my 
nephew,  is  it  ?  "  He  put  a  hand  upon  each  of 
my  shoulders  in  a  very  friendly  way  and  looked 
me  up  and  down. 

"  How  old  are  you,  nephew  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Seventeen,  sir." 

"You  look  older.  You  look  eighteen  at  the 
least. — I  find  him  very  passable,  Mary — very 
passable  indeed.  He  has  not  the  bel  air,  the 
tournure — in  our  uncouth  English  we  have  no 
word  for  it.  But  he  is  as  healthy  as  a  May 
hedge  in  bloom." 

So  within  a  minute  of  his  entering  our  door 
he  had  got  himself  upon  terms  with  all  of  us, 
and  with  so  easy  and  graceful  a  manner  that  it 
seemed  as  if  he  had  known  us  all  for  years.  I 
had  a  good  look  at  him  now  as  he  stood  upon 
the  hearthrug  with  my  mother  upon  one  side  and 
my  father  on  the  other.  He  was  a  very  large 
man,  with  noble  shoulders,  small  waist,  broad 
hips,  well-turned  legs,  and  the  smallest  of  hands 
and  feet.  His  face  was  pale  and  handsome,  with 
a  prominent  chin,  a  jutting  nose,  and  large  blue, 
staring  eyes,  in  which  a  sort  of  dancing  mis- 


82  RODNEY  STONE. 

chievous  light  was  forever  playing.  He  wore  a 
deep  brown  coat  with  a  collar  as  high  as  his  ears 
and  tails  as  low  as  his  knees.  His  black  breeches 
and  silk  stockings  ended  in  very  small  pointed 
shoes,  so  highly  polished  that  they  twinkled  with 
every  movement.  His  vest  was  of  black  velvet, 
open  at  the  top,  to  show  an  embroidered  shirt 
front,  with  a  high,  smooth  white  cravat  above 
it,  which  kept  his  neck  forever  on  the  stretch. 
He  stood  easily  with  one  thumb  in  his  armpit, 
and  two  fingers  of  the  other  hand  in  his  vest 
pocket.  It  made  me  proud  as  I  watched  him  to 
think  that  so  magnificent  a  man  should  be  my 
own  blood  relation,  and  I  could  see  from  my 
mother's  eyes  as  they  turned  toward  him  that 
the  same  thought  was  in  her  mind. 

All  this  time  Ambrose  had  been  standing  like 
a  dark-clothed,  bronze-faced  image  by  the  door, 
with  the  big  silver-bound  box  under  his  arm. 
He  stepped  forward  now  into  the  room. 

"Shall  I  convey  it  to  your  bedchamber,  Sir 
Charles  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Ah,  pardon  me,  sister  Mary,"  cried  my  un- 
cle. "  I  am  old-fashioned  enough  to  have  prin- 
ciples— an  anachronism,  I  know,  in  this  lax  age. 
One  of  them  is  never  to  allow  my  batterie  de 
toilette  out  of  my  sight  when  I  am  travelling.  I 
can  not  readily  forget  the  agonies  which  I  en- 


BUCK  TREGELLIS.  83 

dured  some  years  ago  through  neglecting  this 
precaution.  I  will  do  Ambrose  the  justice  to  say 
that  it  was  before  he  took  charge  of  my  affairs. 
I  was  compelled  to  wear  the  same  ruffles  upon 
two  consecutive  days!  On  the  third  morning 
my  fellow  was  so  affected  by  the  sight  of  my  con- 
dition that  he  burst  into  tears  and  laid  out  a  pair 
which  he  had  stolen  from  me." 

As  he  spoke  his  face  was  very  grave,  but  the 
light  in  his  eyes  danced  and  gleamed.  He 
handed  his  open  snuffbox  to  my  father  as  Am- 
brose followed  my  mother  out  of  the  room. 

"You  number  yourself  in  an  illustrious  com- 
pany by  dipping  your  finger  and  thumb  into  it," 
said  he. 

"  Indeed,  sir  !  "  said  my  father. 

"  You  are  free  of  my  box  as  being  a  relative 
by  marriage.  You  are  free  also,  nephew,  and  I 
pray  you  to  take  a  pinch.  It  is  the  most  intimate 
sign  of  my  good  will.  Outside  ourselves  there 
are  four,  I  think,  who  have  had  access  to  it — the 
prince,  of  course,  Mr.  Pitt,  Monsieur  Otto,  the 
French  ambassador,  and  Lord  Hawkesbury.  I 
have  sometimes  thought  that  I  was  premature 
with  Lord  Hawkesbury." 

"  I  am  vastly  honoured,  sir,"  said  my  father, 
looking  suspiciously  at  his  guest  from  under  his 
shaggy  eyebrows,  for  with  that  grave  face  and 


84  RODNEY  STONE. 

those  twinkling  eyes  it  was  hard  to  know  how  to 
take  him. 

"  A  woman,  sir,  has  her  love  to  bestow,"  said 
my  uncle.  "  A  man  has  his  snuffbox.  Neither  is 
to  be  lightly  offered.  It  is  a  lapse  of  taste ;  nay, 
more,  it  is  a  breach  of  morals.  Only  the  other 
day  as  I  was  seated  in  Wader's,  my  box  of  prime 
Macouba  open  upon  the  table  beside  me,  an  Irish 
bishop  thrust  in  his  intrusive  fingers.  '  Waiter,' 
I  cried,  '  my  box  has  been  soiled  !  Remove  it ! ' 
The  man  meant  no  insult,  you  understand,  but  that 
class  of  people  must  be  kept  in  their  proper 
sphere." 

"  A  bishop  !  "  cried  my  father.  "  You  draw 
your  line  very  high,  sir." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  my  uncle.  "  I  wish  no  better 
epitaph  upon  my  tombstone." 

My  mother  had  in  the  meantime  descended, 
and  we  all  drew  up  to  the  table. 

"You  will  excuse  my  apparent  grossness, 
Mary,  in  venturing  to  bring  my  own  larder  with 
me.  Abernethy  has  me  under  his  orders,  and  I 
must  eschew  your  rich  country  dainties.  A  little 
white  wine  and  a  cold  quail — it  is  as  much  as  the 
niggardly  Scotchman  will  allow  me." 

"  We  should  have  you  on  blockading  service 
when  the  levanters  are  blowing,"  said  my  father. 
"  Salt  junk  and  weevily  biscuits,  with  a  rib  of  a 


BUCK   TREGELLIS.  85 

tough  Barbary  ox  when  the  tenders  come  in. 
You  would  have  your  spare  diet  there,  sir." 

Straightway  my  uncle  began  to  question  him 
about  the  sea  service,  and  for  the  whole  meal  my 
father  was  telling  him  of  the  Nile  and  of  the  Tou- 
lon blockade,  and  the  siege  of  Genoa  and  all  that 
he  had  seen  and  done.  But  whenever  he  faltered 
for  a  word  my  uncle  always  had  it  ready  for  him, 
and  it  was  hard  to  say  which  knew  most  about 
the  business. 

"No,  I  read  little  or  nothing,"  said  he,  when 
my  father  marvelled  where  he  got  his  knowledge. 
"  The  fact  is  that  I  can  hardly  pick  up  a  print 
without  seeing  some  allusion  to  myself,  '  Sir  C — s 
T — s  does  this,'  or  '  Sir  C — s  T — s  says  the  other,' 
so  I  take  them  no  longer.  But  if  a  man  is  in  my 
position  all  knowledge  comes  to  him.  The  Duke 
of  York  tells  me  of  the  army  in  the  morning,  and 
Lord  Spencer  chats  with  me  of  the  navy  in  the 
afternoon,  and  Dundas  whispers  me  what  is  going 
forward  in  the  cabinet,  so  that  I  have  little  need 
of  the  Times  or  the  Morning  Chronicle." 

This  set  him  talking  of  the  great  world  of 
London,  telling  my  father  about  the  men  who 
were  his  masters  at  the  admiralty,  and  my  mother 
about  the  beauties  of  the  town  and  the  great  ladies 
at  Almack's,  but  all  in  the  same  light,  fanciful 
way,  so  that  one  never  knew  whether  to  laugh  or 


86  RODNEY  STONE. 

to  take  him  gravely.  I  think  it  flattered  him  to 
see  the  way  in  which  we  all  three  hung  upon  his 
words.  Of  some  he  thought  highly  and  of  some 
lowly,  but  he  made  no  secret  that  the  highest 
of  all  and  the  one  against  whom  all  others 
should  be  measured  was  Sir  Charles  Tregellis 
himself. 

"  As  to  the  king,"  said  he,  "  of  course,  I  am 
1'ami  de  famille  there,  and  even  with  you  I  can 
scarce  speak  freely,  as  my  relations  are  confiden- 
tial." 

"  God  bless  him  and  keep  him  from  ill !  "  cried 
my  father. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  my 
uncle.  "  One  has  to  come  into  the  country  to 
hear  honest  loyalty,  for  a  sneer  and  a  gibe  are 
more  the  fashions  in  town.  The  king  is  grateful 
to  me  for  the  interest  which  I  have  ever  shown 
in  his  son.  He  likes  to  think  that  the  prince  has 
a  man  of  taste  in  his  circle." 

"  And  the  prince  ?  "  asked  my  mother,  "  is  he 
well  favoured?" 

"  He  is  a  fine  figure  of  a  man.  At  a  distance 
he  has  been  mistaken  for  me.  And  he  has  some 
taste  in  dress,  though  he  gets  slovenly  if  I  am  too 
long  away  from  him.  I  warrant*  you  that  I  find 
a  crease  in  his  coat  to-morrow." 

We  were  all  seated  round  the  fire  by  this  time, 


BUCK  TREGELLIS.  87 

for  the  evening  had  turned  chilly.    The  lamp  was 
lighted  and  so  also  was  my  father's  pipe. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he,  "  that  this  is  your  first 
visit  to  Friar's  Oak." 

My  uncle's  face  turned  suddenly  very  grave 
and  stern. 

"  It  is  my  first  visit  for  many  years,"  said  he. 
"  I  was  but  one  and  twenty  years  of  age  when 
last  I  came  here.  I  am  not  likely  to  forget  it." 

I  knew  that  he  spoke  of  his  visit  to  Cliffe 
Royal  at  the  time  of  the  murder,  and  I  saw  by 
her  face  that  my  mother  knew  it  also.  My  father, 
however,  had  either  never  heard  of  it,  or  had  for- 
gotten the  circumstance. 

.  "  Was  it  at  the  inn  you  staid  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  staid  with  the  unfortunate  Lord  Avon. 
It  was  the  time  when  he  was  accused  of  slaying 
his  younger  brother  and  fled  from  the  country." 

We  all  fell  silent,  and  my  uncle  leaned  his  chin 
upon  upon  his  hand,  looking  thoughtfully  into 
the  fire.  If  I  do  but  close  my  eyes  now  I  can  see 
the  light  upon  his  proud,  handsome  face,  and  see 
also  my  dear  father,  concerned  at  having  touched 
upon  so  terrible  a  memory,  shooting  little  anxious 
glances  at  him  between  the  puffs  of  his  pipe. 

"  I  dare  say  that  it  has  happened  with  you, 
sir,"  said  my  uncle  at  last ;  "  that  you  have  lost 

some  dear  messmate  in  battle  or  wreck,  and  that 
7 


83  RODNEY  STONE. 

you  have  put  him  out  of  your  mind  in  the  routine 
of  your  daily  life,  until  suddenly  some  word  or 
some  scene  brings  him  back  to  your  memory,  and 
you  find  your  sorrow  as  raw  as  upon  the  first  day 
of  your  loss." 

My  father  nodded. 

"  So  it  was  with  me  to-night.  I  never  formed 
a  close  friendship  with  a  man — I  say  nothing  of 
women — save  only  the  once.  That  was  with 
Lord  Avon.  We  were  of  an  age,  he  a  few  years 
perhaps  my  senior,  but  our  tastes,  our  judgments, 
and  our  character  were  alike,  save  only  that  he 
had  in  him  a  touch  of  pride  such  as  I  have  never 
known  in  any  other  man.  Putting  aside  the  little 
foibles  of  a  rich  young  man  of  fashion,  les  indis- 
cretions d'une  jeunesse  dor6e,  I  could  have  sworn 
that  he  was  as  good  a  man  as  I  have  ever 
known." 

"  How  came  he  then  to  such  a  crime  ?  "  asked 
my  father. 

My  uncle  shook  his  head.  "  Many  a  time  have 
I  asked  myself  that  question,  and  it  comes  more 
home  to  me  to-night  than  ever."  All  the  jaunti- 
ness  had  gone  out  of  his  manner,  and  he  had 
turned  suddenly  into  a  sad  and  serious  man. 

"  Was  it  certain  that  he  did  it,  Charles  ? " 
asked  my  mother. 

My  uncle  shrugged  his  shoulders.     "  I  wish  I 


BUCK   TREGELLIS.  89 

could  think  it  were  not  so.  I  have  thought  some- 
times that  it  was  this  very  pride,  turning-  sudden- 
ly to  madness,  which  drove  him  to  it  You  have 
heard  how  he  returned  the  money  which  we  had 
lost?" 

"  Nay,  I  have  heard  nothing  of  it,"  my  father 
answered. 

"  It  is  a  very  old  story  now,  though  we  have 
not  yet  found  an  end  to  it.  We  had  played  for 
two  days,  the  four  of  us,  Lord  Avon,  his  brother 
Captain  Barrington,  Sir  Lothian  Hume,  and  my- 
self. Of  the  captain  I  knew  little,  save  that  he 
was  not  of  the  best  repute,  and  was  deep  in  the 
hands  of  the  Jews.  Sir  Lothian  has  made  an  evil 
name  for  himself  since — 'tis  the  same  Sir  Lothian 
who  shot  Lord  Carton  in  the  affair  at  Chalk  farm 
— but  in  those  days  there  was  nothing  against 
him.  The  oldest  of  us  was  but  twenty-four,  and 
we  gamed  on,  as  I  say,  until  the  captain  had 
cleared  the  board.  We  were  all  hit,  but  our  host 
far  the  hardest. 

"  That  night — I  tell  you  now  what  it  would  be 
a  bitter  thing  for  me  to  tell  in  a  court  of  law — I 
was  restless  and  sleepless,  as  often  happens  when 
a  man  has  kept  awake  over  long.  My  mind 
would  dwell  upon  the  fall  of  the  cards,  and  I  was 
tossing  and  turning  in  my  bed,  when  suddenly  a 
cry  fell  upon  my  ears,  and  then  a  second  louder 


OX)  -RODNEY   STONE. 

one  coming  from  the  direction  of  Captain  Bar- 
rington's  room.  Five  minutes  later  I  heard  steps 
passing  down  the  passage,  and,  without  striking 
a  light,  I  opened  my  door  and  peeped  out,  think- 
ing that  some  one  was  taken  unwell.  There  was 
Lord  Avon  walking  toward  me.  In  one  hand  he 
held  a  guttering  candle,  and  in  the  other  a  brown 
bag,  which  chinked  as  he  moved.  His  face  was 
all  drawn  and  distorted — so  much  so  that  my 
question  was  frozen  upon  my  lips.  Before  I 
could  utter  it  he  turned  into  his  chamber  and 
softly  closed  the  door. 

"  Next  morning  I  was  awakened  by  finding 
him  at  my  bedside.  '  Charles,'  said  he,  '  I  can  not 
bear  to  think  that  you  should  have  lost  this 
money  in  my  house.  You  will  find  it  here  upon 
your  table.' 

"  It  was  in  vain  that  I  laughed  at  his  squeam- 
ishness,  telling  him  that  I  should  most  certainly 
have  claimed  my  money  had  I  won,  so  that  it 
would  be  strange,  indeed,  if  I  were  not  permitted 
to  pay  it  when  I  lost. 

" '  Neither  I  nor  my  brother  will  touch  it,' 
said  he.  '  There  it  lies  and  you  may  do  what  you 
like  about  it.'  He  would  listen  to  no  argument 
but  dashed  out  of  the  room  like  a  madman.  But 
perhaps  these  details  are  familiar  to  you,  and 
God  knows  they  are  painful  to  me  to  tell ! " 


BUCK   TREGELLIS.  9! 

My  father  was  sitting  with  staring  eyes  and 
his  forgotten  pipe  reeking  in  his  hand. 

"  Pray  let  us  hear  the  end  of  it,  sir !  "  he  cried. 

"  Well,  then,  I  had  finished  my  toilet  in  an 
hour  or  so — for  I  was  less  exigeant  in  those  days 
than  now — and  I  met  Sir  Lothian  Hume  at  break- 
fast. His  experience  had  been  the  same  as  my 
own,  and  he  was  eager  to  see  Captain  Harrington, 
and  to  ascertain  why  he  had  directed  his  brother 
to  return  the  money  to  us.  We  were  talking  the 
matter  over,  when  suddenly  I  raised  my  eyes  to 
the  corner  of  the  ceiling,  and  I  saw — I  saw " 

My  uncle  had  turned  quite  pale  with  the 
vividness  of  the  memory,  and  he  passed  his  hand 
over  his  eyes. 

"  It  was  crimson,"  said  he,  with  a  shudder. 
"  Crimson,  with  black  cracks,  and  from  every 
crack — but  I  will  give  you  dreams,  sister  Mary. 
Suffice  it  that  we  rushed  up  the  stair  which  led 
direct  to  the  captain's  room,  and  there  we  found 
him  lying,  with  the  bone  gleaming  white  through 
his  throat.  A  hunting  knife  lay  in  the  room — and 
the  knife  was  Lord  Avon's.  A  lace  ruffle  was 
found  in  the  dead  man's  grasp — and  the  ruffle 
was  Lord  Avon's.  Some  papers  were  found 
charred  in  the  grate — and  the  papers  were  Lord 
Avon's.  O  my  poor  friend,  in  what  moment  of 
madness  did  you  come  to  do  such  a  deed  ! " 


Q2  RODNEY   STONE. 

The  light  had  gone  out  of  my  uncle's  eyes, 
and  the  extravagance  from  his  manner.  His 
speech  was  clear  and  plain,  with  none  of  those 
strange  London  ways  which  had  so  amazed  me. 
Here  was  a  second  uncle,  a  man  of  heart  and  a 
man  of  brains,  and  I  liked  him  better  than  the 
first. 

"  And  what  said  Lord  Avon  ? "  cried  my 
father. 

"  He  said  nothing.  He  went  about  like  one 
who  walks  in  his  sleep,  with  horror-stricken  eyes. 
None  dared  arrest  him  until  there  should  be  due 
inquiry,  but  when  the  coroner's  court  brought 
wilful  murder  against  him  the  constables  came 
for  him  in  full  cry.  But  they  found  him  fled. 
There  was  a  rumour  that  he  had  been  seen  in 
Westminster  in  the  next  week,  and  then  that  he 
had  escaped  for  America,  but  nothing  more  is 
known.  It  will  be  a  bright  day  for  Sir  Lothian 
Hume  when  they  can  prove  him  dead,  for  he  is 
next  of  kin,  and  till  then  he  can  touch  neither  title 
nor  estate." 

The  telling  of  this  grim  story  had  cast  a  chill 
upon  all  of  us.  My  uncle  held  out  his  hands 
toward  the  blaze,  and  I  noticed  that  they  were  as 
white  as  the  ruffles  which  fringed  them. 

"  I  know  not  how  things  are  at  Cliffe  Royal 
now,"  said  he  thoughtfully.  "  It  was  not  a  cheery 


BUCK   TREGELLIS. 


93 


house,  even  before  this  shadow  fell  upon  it.  A 
fitter  stage  was  never  set  forth  for  such  a  tragedy. 
But  seventeen  years  have  passed,  and  perhaps 
even  that  horrible  ceiling — 

"  It  still  bears  the  stain,"  said  I. 

I  know  not  which  of  the  three  was  the  more 
astonished,  for  my  mother  had  not  heard  of  my 
adventures  of  the  night.  They  never  took  their 
wondering  eyes  off  me  as  I  told  my  story,  and 
my  heart  swelled  with  pride  when  my  uncle  said 
that  we  had  carried  ourselves  well,  and  that  he 
did  not  think  that  many  of  our  age  would  have 
stood  to  it  as  stoutly. 

"  But  as  to  this  ghost,  it  must  have  been  the 
creature  of  your  own  minds,"  said  he.  "  Imagi- 
nation plays  us  strange  tricks,  and  though  I  have 
as  steady  a  nerve  as  a  man  might  wish,  I  can  not 
answer  for  what  I  might  see  if  I  were  to  stand 
under  that  blood-soaked  ceiling  at  midnight." 

"  Uncle,"  said  I,  "  I  saw  a  figure  as  plainly  as 
I  see  that  fire,  and  I  heard  the  steps  as  clearly  as 
I  hear  the  crackle  of  the  faggots.  Besides,  we 
could  not  both  be  deceived." 

"  There  is  truth  in  that,"  said  he  thoughtfully. 
"  You  saw  no  features,  you  say  ?  " 

"  It  was  too  dark." 

"  But  only  a  figure  ?  " 

"  The  dark  outline  of  one." 


04  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  And  it  retreated  up  the  stair? " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  vanished  into  the  wall  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"At  what  part  of  the  wall?"  cried  a  voice 
from  behind  us. 

My  mother  screamed,  and  down  came  my 
father's  pipe  on  to  the  hearthrug.  I  had  sprung 
round  with  a  catch  of  my  breath,  and  there  was 
the  valet  Ambrose,  his  body  in  the  shadow  of  the 
doorway,  his  dark  face  protruded  into  the  light, 
and  two  burning  eyes  fixed  upon  mine. 

"  What  the  devil  is  the  meaning  of  this,  sir  ?  " 
cried  my  uncle. 

It  was  strange  to  see  the  gleam  and  passion 
fade  out  of  the  man's  face,  and  the  demure  mask 
of  the  valet  replace  it  His  eyes  still  smouldered, 
but  his  features  regained  their  prim  composure 
in  an  instant. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  Charles,"  said  he. 
"  I  had  come  in  to  ask  you  if  you  had  any  orders 
for  me,  and  I  did  not  like  to  interrupt  the  young 
gentleman's  story.  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  been 
somewhat  carried  away  by  it." 

"  I  never  knew  you  to  forget  yourself  before," 
said  my  uncle. 

"  You  will,  I'm  sure,  forgive  me,  Sir  Charles, 
if  you  will  call  to  mind  the  relation  in  which  I 


BUCK   TREGELLIS.  95 

stood  to  Lord  Avon."  He  spoke  with  some  dig- 
nity of  manner,  and,  with  a  bow,  he  left  the  room. 
"  We  must  make  some  little  allowance,"  said 
my  uncle,  with  a  sudden  return  to  his  jaunty 
manner.  "  When  a  man  can  brew  a  dish  of 
chocolate  or  tie  a  cravat  as  Ambrose  does  he 
may  claim  consideration.  The  fact  is  that  the 
poor  fellow  was  valet  to  Lord  Avon,  that  he  was 
at  Cliffe  Royal  upon  the  fatal  night  of  which  I 
have  spoken,  and  that  he  is  most  devoted  to  his 
old  master.  But  my  talk  has  been  somewhat 
triste,  sister  Mary,  and  now  we  shall  return,  if 
you  please,  to  the  dresses  of  the  Countess  Lieven 
and  the  gossip  of  St.  James." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  FIRST  JOURNEY. 

MY  father  sent  me  to  bed  early  that  night, 
though  I  was  very  eager  to  stay  up,  for  every 
word  which  this  man  said  held  my  attention. 
His  face,  his  manner,  the  large  waves  and  sweeps 
of  his  white  hands,  his  easy  air  of  superiority,  his 
fantastic  fashion  of  talk,  all  filled  me  with  interest 
and  wonder.  But,  as  I  afterward  learned,  this 
conversation  was  to  be  about  myself,  and  my 
own  prospects,  so  I  was  despatched  to  my  room, 
whence  far  into  the  night  I  could  hear  the  deep 
growl  of  my  father  and  the  rich  tones  of  my 
uncle,  with  an  occasional  gentle  murmur  from  my 
mother,  as  they  talked  in  the  room  beneath. 

I  had  dropped  asleep  at  last,  when  I  was 
awakened  suddenly  by  something  wet  being 
pressed  against  my  face,  and  by  two  warm  arms, 
which  were  cast  round  me.  My  mother's  cheek 
was  against  my  own,  and  I  could  hear  the  click 

of  her  sobs,  and  feel  her  quiver  and  shake  in  the 

96 


THE   FIRST  JOURNEY.  97 

darkness.  A  faint  light  stole  through  the  latticed 
window,  and  I  could  dimly  see  that  she  was  in 
white,  with  her  black  hair  loose  upon  her  shoul- 
ders. 

"You  won't  forget  us,  Roddy?    You  won't 

forget  us  ?  " 

"  Why,  mother,  what  is  it?" 

"Your  uncle,  Roddy.  He  is  going  to  take 
you  away  from  us." 

"When,  mother?" 

"  To-morrow." 

God  forgive  me,  how  my  heart  bounded  for 
joy,  when  hers,  which  was  within  touch  of  it,  was 
breaking  with  sorrow ! 

"  O  mother !  "  I  cried.     "  To  London  ?  " 

"  First  to  Brighton,  that  he  may  present  you 
to  the  prince.  Next  day  to  London,  where  you 
will  meet  the  great  people,  Roddy,  and  learn  to 
look  down  upon — to  look  down  upon  your  poor, 
simple,  old-fashioned  father  and  mother." 

I  put  my  arms  about  her  to  console  her,  but 
she  wept  so  that  for  all  of  my  seventeen  years  it 
set  me  weeping  also,  and  with  such  a  hiccough- 
ing noise,  since  I  had  not  a  woman's  knack  of 
quiet  tears,  that  it  finally  turned  her  own  grief  to 
laughter. 

"Charles  would  be  flattered  if  he  could  see 
the  gracious  way  in  which  we  receive  his  kind- 


9g  RODNEY  STONE. 

ness,"  said  she.     "  Be  still,  Roddy  dear,  or  you 
will  certainly  wake  him." 

"  I'll  not  go  if  it  is  to  grieve  you,"  I  cried. 

"  Nay,  dear,  you  must  go,  for  it  may  be  the 
one  great  chance  of  your  life.  And  think  how 
proud  it  will  make  us  all  when  we  hear  of  you  in 
the  company  of  Charles's  grand  friends.  But  you 
will  promise  me  not  to  gamble,  Roddy?  You 
heard  to-night  of  the  dreadful  things  which  come 
from  it." 

"  I  promise  you,  mother." 

"And  you  will  be  careful  of  wine,  Roddy? 
You  are  young  and  unused  to  it." 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  And  play  actresses,  also,  Roddy.  And  you 
will  not  cast  your  underclothing  until  June  is 
in.  Young  Master  Overton  came  by  his  death 
through  it.  Think  well  of  your  dress,  Roddy,  so 
as  to  do  your  uncle  credit,  for  it  is  the  thing  for 
which  he  is  himself  most  famed.  You  have  but 
to  do  what  he  will  direct.  But  if  there  is  a  time 
when  you  are  not  meeting  grand  people  you  can 
wear  out  your  country  things,  for  your  brown 
coat  is  as  good  as  new,  and  the  blue  one,  if  it 
were  ironed  and  relined,  would  take  you  through 
the  summer.  I  have  put  out  your  Sunday  clothes 
with  the  nankeen  vest,  since  you  are  to  see  the 
prince  to-morrow,  and  you  will  wear  your  brown 


THE   FIRST  JOURNEY.  gg 

silk  stockings  and  buckle  shoes.  Be  guarded  in 
crossing  the  London  streets,  for  I  am  told  that 
the  hackney  coaches  are  past  all  imagining. 
Fold  your  clothes  when  you  go  to  bed,  Roddy, 
and  do  not  forget  your  evening  prayers,  for  oh, 
my  dear  boy,  the  days  of  temptation  are  at  hand, 
when  I  will  no  longer  be  with  you  to  help  you." 
So  With  advice  and  guidance  both  for  this  world 
and  the  next  did  my  mother  with  her  soft  warm 
arms  around  me  prepare  me  for  the  great  step 
which  lay  before  me. 

My  uncle  did  not  appear  at  breakfast  in  the 
morning,  but  Ambrose  brewed  him  a  dish  of 
chocolate  and  took  it  to  his  room.  When  at  last, 
about  mid-day,  he  did  descend,  he  was  so  fine, 
with  his  curled  hair,  his  shining  teeth,  his  quiz- 
zing glass,  his  snow-white  ruffles  and  his  laugh- 
ing eyes,  that  I  could  not  take  my  gaze  from  him. 

"  Well,  nephew,"  he  cried,  "  what  do  you 
think  of  the  prospect  of  coming  to  town  with 
me?" 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  the  kind  interest  which 
you  take  in  me,"  said  I. 

"  But  you  must  be  a  credit  to  me,  Rodney. 
My  nephew  must  be  of  the  best  if  he  is  to  be  in 
keeping  with  the  rest  of  me." 

"  You'll  find  him  a  chip  of  good  wood,  sir," 
said  my  father. 


100  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  We  must  make  him  a  polished  chip  before 
we  have  done  with  him.  Your  aim,  my  dear 
nephew,  must  always  be  to  be  in  bon  ton.  It 
is  not  a  case  of  wealth,  you  understand.  Mere 
riches  can  not  do  it.  Golden  Price  has  forty 
thousand  pounds  a  year,  but  his  clothes  are  dis- 
astrous. I  assure  you  that  I  saw  him  come  down 
St.  James  Street  the  other  day,  and  I  was  so 
shocked  at  his  appearance  that  I  had  to  step  into 
Vernet's  for  a  glass  of  orange  brandy.  No,  'tis  a 
question  of  natural  taste,  and  of  following  the  ad- 
vice and  example  of  those  who  are  more  experi- 
enced than  yourself." 

"  I  fear,  Charles,  that  Roddy's  wardrobe  is 
country-made,"  said  my  mother. 

"  We  shall  soon  set  that  right  when  we  get  to 

town ;  we  shall  see  what  Stultz  or  Weston  can  do 

i 

for  him,"  my  uncle  answered.  "  We  must  keep 
him  en  retraite  until  he  has  some  clothes  to  wear." 

This  slight  upon  my  best  Sunday  suit  brought 
a  flush  to  my  mother's  cheeks,  which  my  uncle 
instantly  observed,  for  he  was  quick  in  noticing 
trifles. 

"  The  clothes  are  very  well  for  Friar's  Oak, 
sister  Mary,"  said  he.  "And  yet  you  can  under- 
stand that  they  might  seem  rococo  in  the  Mall. 
If  you  leave  him  in  my  hands  I  shall  see  to  the 
matter." 


THE   FIRST  JOURNEY.  IOI 

"  On  how  much,  sir,"  asked  my  father,  "  ean  a 
young  man  dress  in  town  ?  " 

"  With  prudence  and  reasonable  care  a  young- 
man  of  fashion  can  dress  upon  eight  hundred 
pounds  a  year,"  my  uncle  answered. 

I  saw  my  poor  father's  face  grow  longer. 

"  I  fear,  sir,  that  Roddy  must  keep  his  coun- 
try clothes,"  said  he.  "  Even  with  my  prize 
money " 

"  Tut,  sir !  "  cried  my  uncle.  "  I  already  owe 
Weston  something  over  a  thousand,  so  how  can  a 
few  odd  hundreds  affect  it?  If  my  nephew  comes 
with  me,  my  nephew  is  my  care.  The  point  is 
settled,  and  I  must  refuse  to  argue  upon  it."  He 
waved  his  white  hands  as  if  to  brush  aside  all 
opposition. 

My  parents  tried  to  thank  him,  but  he  cut 
them  short. 

"  By  the  way,  now  that  I  am  in  Friar's  Oak, 
there  is  another  small  piece  of  business  which  I 
have  to  perform,"  said  he.  "  I  believe  that  there 
is  a  fighting  man  named  Harrison  here,  who  at 
one  time  might  have  held  the  championship.  In 
those  days  poor  Avon  and  I  were  his  principal 
backers.  I  should  like  to  have  a  word  with  him." 

You  may  think  how  proud  I  was  to  walk 
down  the  village  street  with  my  magnificent  rela- 
tive, and  to  note  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  how 


I02  RODNEY   STONE. 

the  folk  came  to  the  doors  and  windows  to  see  us 
pass.  Champion  Harrison  was  standing  outside 
the  smithy,  and  he  pulled  his  cap  off  when  he 
saw  my  uncle. 

"God  bless  me,  sir!  Who'd  ha'  thought  of 
seeing  you  at  Friar's  Oak?  Why,  Sir  Charles,  it 
brings  old  memories  back  to  look  at  your  face 
again." 

"  Glad  to  see  you  looking  so  fit,  Harrison," 
said  my  uncle,  running  his  eyes  over  him. 
"  Why,  with  a  month's  training  you  would  be  as 
good  a  man  as  ever.  I  don't  suppose  you  scale 
more  than  thirteen  and  a  half." 

"  Thirteen  ten,  Sir  Charles.  I'm  in  my  forty- 
first  year,  but  I  am  sound  in  wind  and  limb,  and 
if  my  old  woman  would  have  let  me  off  my  prom- 
ise I'd  ha'  had  a  try  with  some  of  these  young 
ones  before  now.  I  hear  that  they've  got  some 
amazin'  good  stuff  up  from  Bristol  of  late." 

"  Yes,  the  Bristol  yellow  man  has  been  the 
winning  colour  of  late. — How  d'ye  do,  Mrs.  Har- 
rison? I  don't  suppose  you  remember  me." 

She  had  come  out  from  the  house,  and  I  no- 
ticed that  her  worn  face — on  which  some  past 
terror  seemed  to  have  left  its  shadow — hardened 
into  stern  lines  as  she  looked  at  my  uncle. 

"  I  remember  you  too  well,  Sir  Charles  Tre- 
gellis,"  said  she.  "  I  trust  that  you  have  not 


THE   FIRST  JOURNEY.  IO3 

come  here  to-day  to  try  to  draw  my  husband 
back  into  the  ways  that  he  has  forsaken." 

"  That's  the  way  with  her,  Sir  Charles,"  said 
the  champion,  resting  his  great  hand  upon  the 
woman's  shoulder.  "  She's  got  my  promise,  and 
she  holds  me  to  it!  There  was  never  a  better 
nor  a  harder-working  wife,  but  she  ain't  what 
you'd  call  a  patron  of  sport,  and  that's  a  fact." 

"  Sport !  "  cried  the  woman,  bitterly.  "  A  fine 
sport  for  you,  Sir  Charles,  with  your  pleasant 
twenty-mile  drive  into  the  country,  and  your 
luncheon  basket  and  your  wines,  and  so  merrily 
back  to  London  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  with 
a  well-fought  battle  to  talk  over.  Think  of  the 
sport  that  it  was  to  me  to  sit  through  the  long 
hours  listening  for  the  wheels  of  the  chaise  which 
would  bring  my  man  back  to  me.  Sometimes  he 
could  walk  in,  and  sometimes  he  was  led  in,  and 
sometimes  he  was  carried  in,  and  it  was  only  by 
his  clothes  that  I  could  know  him " 

"  Come,  wife,"  said  the  champion,  patting  her 
on  the  shoulders,  "  I've  been  cut  up  in  my  time, 
but  never  so  bad  as  that." 

"  And  then  to  live  for  weeks  afterward  with 
the  fear  that  every  knock  at  the  door  may  be  to 
tell  us  that  the  other  is  dead,  and  that  my  man 
may  have  to  stand  in  the  dock  and  take  his  trial 
for  murder! " 


104 


RODNEY   STONE. 


"  No,  she  hasn't  got  a  sportin*  drop  in  her 
veins,"  said  Harrison.  "  She'd  never  make  a 
patron,  never!  It's  Black  Baruk's  business  that 
did  it,  when  we  thought  he'd  napped  it  once  too 
often.  Well,  she  has  my  promise,  and  I'll  never 
sling  my  hat  over  the  ropes  again  unless  she  gives 
me  leave." 

"  You'll  keep  your  hat  on  your  head  like  an 
honest,  God-fearing  man,  John,"  said  his  wife, 
turning  back  into  the  house. 

"  I  wouldn't  for  the  world  say  anything  to 
make  you  change  your  resolution,"  said  my 
uncle.  "  At  the  same  time,  if  you  had  wished  to 
take  a  turn  at  the  old  sport,  I  had  a  good  thing 
to  put  in  your  way." 

"  Well,  it's  no  use,  sir,"  said  the  smithy,  "  but 
I'd  be  glad  to  hear  about  it  all  the  same." 

"They  have  a  very  good  bit  of  stuff  at  thir- 
teen stone  down  Gloucester  way.  Wilson  is  his 
name,  and  they  call  him  Crab  on  account  of  his 
style." 

Harrison  shook  his  head.  "  Never  heard  of 
him,  sir." 

"  Very  likely  not,  for  he  has  never  shown  in 
the  P.  R.  But  they  think  great  things  of  him  in 
the  west,  and 'he  can  hold  his  own  with  either  of 
the  Belchers  with  the  mufflers." 

"  Sparrin'  ain't  fightin',"  said  the  champion. 


THE   FIRST   JOURNEY.  IO5 

"  I  am  told  that  he  had  the  best  of  it  in  a  by 
battle  with  Noah  James,  of  Cheshire." 

"  There's  no  gamer  man  on  the  list,  sir,  than 
Noah  James,  the  guardsman,"  said  Harrison.  "  I 
saw  him  myself  fight  fifty  rounds  after  his  jaw 
had  been  cracked  in  three  places.  If  Wilson 
could  beat  him,  Wilson  will  go  far." 

"  So  they  think  in  the  west,  and  they  mean  to 
spring  him  on  the  London  talent.  Sir  Lothian 
Hume  is  his  patron,  and,  to  make  a  long  story 
short,  he  lays  me  odds  that  I  won't  find  a  young 
one  of  his  weight  to  meet  him.  I  told  him  that  I 
had  not  heard  of  any  good  young  ones,  but  that 
I  had  an  old  one  who  had  not  put  his  foot  into  a 
ring  for  many  years,  who  would  make  his  man 
wish  he  had  never  come  to  London.  '  Young  or 
old,  under  twenty  or  over  thirty-five,  you  may 
bring  whom  you  will  at  the  weight,  and  I  shall 
lay  two  to  one  on  Wilson,'  said  he.  I  took  him 
in  thousands,  and  here  I  am." 

"  It  won't  do,  Sir  Charles,"  said  the  smith, 
shaking  his  head.  "There's  nothing  would  please 
me  better,  but  you  heard  for  yourself." 

"  Well,  if  you  won't  fight,  Harrison,  I  must 
try  to  get  some  younger  colt.  I'd  be  glad  of 
your  advice  in  the  matter.  By  the  way,  I  take 
the  chair  at  a  supper  of  the  Fancy  at  the  Waggon 
and  Horses  in  St.  Martin's  Lane  next  Friday.  I 


I06  RODNEY   STONE. 

should  be  very  glad  if  you  would  make  one  of 
my  guests. — Hullo!  who's  this?"  Up  flew  his 
glass  to  his  eye. 

Boy  Jim  had  come  out  from  the  forge  with 
his  hammer  in  his  hand.  He  had,  I  remember,  a 
gray  flannel  shirt,  which  was  open  at  the  neck 
and  turned  up  at  the  sleeves.  My  uncle  ran  his 
eyes  over  the  fine  lines  of  his  magnificent  figure 
with  the  glance  of  a  connoisseur. 

"  That's  my  nephew,  Sir  Charles." 

"  Is  he  living  with  you?" 

"  His  parents  are  dead." 

"  Has  he  ever  been  in  London?" 

"  No,  Sir  Charles.  He's  been  with  me  here 
since  he  was  as  high  as  that  hammer." 

My  uncle  turned  to  Boy  Jim. 

"  I  hear  that  you  have  never  been  in  London," 
said  he.  "  Your  uncle  is  coming  up  to  a  supper 
which  I  am  giving  to  the  fancy  next  Friday. 
Would  you  care  to  make  one  of  us  ?  " 

Boy  Jim's  dark  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  come,  sir." 

"  No,  no,  Jim,"  cried  the  smith  abruptly.  "  I'm 
sorry  to  gainsay  you,  lad,  but  there  are  reasons 
why  I'd  rather  you  staid  down  here  with  your 
aunt." 

"Tut,  Harrison,  let  the  lad  come!"  cried  my 
uncle. 


THE   FIRST  JOURNEY.  Io/ 

"  No,  no,  Sir  Charles.  It's  dangerous  com- 
pany for  a  lad  of  his  mettle.  There's  plenty  for 
him  to  do  when  I'm  away." 

Poor  Jim  turned  away  with  a  clouded  brow 
and  strode  into  the  smithy  again.  For  my  part, 
I  slipped  after  him  to  try  to  console  him,  and  to 
tell  him  all  the  wonderful  changes  which  had 
come  so  suddenly  into  my  life.  But  I  had  not 
got  half  through  my  story,  and  Jim,  like  the  good 
fellow  that  he  was,  had  just  begun  to  forget  his 
own  troubles  in  his  delight  at  my  good  fortune, 
when  my  uncle  called  to  me  from  without.  The 
curricle  with  its  tandem  mares  was  waiting  for  us 
outside  the  cottage,  and  Ambrose  had  placed  the 
refection  basket,  the  lapdog,  and  the  precious 
toilet  box  inside  of  it.  He  had  himself  climbed 
up  behind,  and  I,  after  a  hearty  handshake  from 
my  father  and  a  last  sobbing  embrace  from  my 
mother,  took  my  place  beside  my  uncle.  "  Let 
go  her  head,"  cried  he  to  the  hostler,  and  with  a 
snap,  a  crack,  and  a  jingle,  away  we  went  upon 
our  journey. 

Across  all  the  years  how  clearly  I  can  see  that 
spring  day  with  the  green  English  fields,  the 
windy  English  sky,  and  the  yellow  beetle-browed 
cottage  in  which  I  had  grown  from  a  child  to  a 
man !  I  see,  too,  the  figures  at  the  garden  gate, 
my  mother  with  her  face  turned  away  and  her 


I08  RODNEY   STONE. 

handkerchief  waving,  my  father  with  his  blue 
coat  and  his  white  shorts  leaning  upon  his  stick 
with  his  hand  shading  his  eyes  as  he  peered  after 
us.  All  the  village  was  out  to  see  young  Roddy 
Stone  go  off  with  his  grand  relative  from  London 
to  call  upon  the  prince  in  his  own  palace.  The 
Harrisons  were  waving  to  me  from  the  smithy, 
and  John  Cummings  from  the  steps  of  the  inn, 
and  I  saw  Joshua  Allen,  my  old  schoolmaster, 
pointing  me  out  to  the  people,  as  if  he  were 
showing  what  came  from  his  teaching.  To  make 
it  complete,  who  should  drive  past  just  as  we 
cleared  the  village  but  Miss  Hinton,  the  play- 
actress,  the  pony  and  phaeton,  the  same  as  when 
first  I  saw  her,  but  she  herself  another  woman, 
and  I  thought  to  myself  that  if  Boy  Jim  had  done 
nothing  but  that  one  thing  he  need  not  think  that 
his  youth  had  been  wasted  in  the  country. 

She  was  driving  to  see  him,  I  have  no  doubt, 
for  they  were  closer  than  ever,  and  she  never 
looked  up  nor  saw  the  hand  that  I  waved  to  her. 
So  as  we  took  the  curve  of  the  road  the  little  vil- 
lage vanished,  and  there  in  the  dip  of  the  Downs, 
past  the  spires  of  Patchem  and  of  Preston,  lay  the 
broad,  blue  sea  and  the  gray  houses  of  Brighton, 
with  the  strange  eastern  domes  and  minarets  of 
the  prince's  pavilion  shooting  out  from  the  centre 
of  it.  To  every  traveller  it  was  a  sight  of  beauty 


THE   FIRST  JOURNEY. 

but  to  me  it  was  the  world,  the  great,  wide,  free 
world,  and  my  heart  thrilled  and  fluttered  as  the 
young  bird's  may  when  it  first  hears  the  whirr 
of  its  own  flight  and  skims  along  with  the  blue 
heaven  above  it  and  the  green  fields  beneath. 
The  day  may  come  when  it  may  look  back  re- 
gretfully to  the  snug  nest  in  the  thorn  brush  ;  but 
what  does  it  reck  of  that  when  spring  is  in  the 
air  and  youth  in  its  blood,  and  the  old  hawk  of 
trouble  has  not  yet  darkened  the  sunshine  with 
the  ill-boding  shadow  of  its  wings ! 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  HOPE  OF  ENGLAND. 

MY  uncle  drove  for  some  time  in  silence,  but  I 
was  conscious  that  his  eye  was  always  coming 
round  to  me,  and  I  had  an  uneasy  conviction  that 
he  was  already  beginning  to  ask  himself  whether 
he  could  make  anything  of  me,  or  whether  he 
had  been  betrayed  into  an  indiscretion  when  he 
had  allowed  his  sister  to  persuade  him  to  show 
her  son  something  of  the  grand  world  in  which 
he  lived. 

"  You  sing,  don't  you,  nephew  ?  "  he  asked, 
suddenly. 

"  Yes,  sir,  a  little." 

"  A  barytone,  I  should  fancy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  your  mother  tells  me  that  you  play  the 
fiddle.  These  things  will  be  of  service  to  you 
with  the  prince.  Music  runs  in  his  family.  Your 
education  has  been  what  you  could  get  at  a  vil- 
lage school.  Well,  you  are  not  examined  in 

no 


THE   HOPE   OF   ENGLAND.  Ill 

Greek  roots  in  polite  society,  which  is  lucky  for 
some  of  us.  It  is  just  as  well  to  have  a  tag  or 
two  of  Horace,  or  Virgil,  '  Subtegmine  fagi,'  or 
'  habet  foenum  in  cornu,'  which  gives  a  flavour  to 
one's  conversation,  like  the  touch  of  garlic  in  a 
salad.  It  is  not  bon  ton  to  be  learned,  but  it  is  a 
graceful  thing  to  indicate  that  you  have  forgotten 
a  good  deal.  Can  you  write  verse  ?  " 

"  I  fear  not,  sir." 

"  A  small  book  of  rhymes  may  be  had  for  half 
a  crown.  Vers  de  societe  are  a  great  assistance 
to  a  young  man.  If  you  have  the  ladies  on  your 
side  it  does  not  matter  whom  you  have  against 
you.  You  must  learn  to  open  a  door,  to  enter  a 
room,  to  present  a  snuffbox,  raising  the  lid  with 
the  forefinger  of  the  hand  in  which  you  hold  it. 
You  must  acquire  the  bow  for  a  man,  with  its 
necessary  touch  of  dignity,  and  that  for  a  lady, 
which  can  not  be  too  humble,  and  should  still 
contain  the  least  suspicion  of  abandon.  You 
must  cultivate  a  manner  with  women  which  shall 
be  deprecating  and  yet  audacious.  Have  you 
any  eccentricity  ?  " 

It  made  me  laugh,  the  easy  way  in  which  he 
asked  the  question,  as  if  it  were  a  most  natural 
thing  to  possess. 

"  You  have  a  pleasant  catching  laugh  at  all 
events,"  said  he,  "  but  an  eccentricity  is  very  bon 


H2  RODNEY  STONE. 

ton  at  present,  and  if  you  feel  any  leaning  toward 
one,  I  should  certainly  advise  you  to  let  it  run  its 
course.  Peterham  would  have  remained  a  mere 
peer  all  his  life  had  it  not  come  out  that  he  had 
a  snuffbox  for  every  day  in  the  year,  and  that  he 
had  caught  cold  through  a  mistake  of  his  valet, 
who  sent  him  out  on  a  bitter  winter  day  with  a 
thin  Sevres  china  box  instead  of  a  thick  tortoise- 
shell.  That  brought  him  out  of  the  ruck,  you 
see,  and  people  remember  him.  Even  some  small 
characteristic,  such  as  having  an  apricot  tart  on 
your  sideboard  all  the  year  round,  or  putting 
your  candle  out  at  night  by  stuffing  it  under  your 
pillow,  serves  to  separate  you  from  your  neigh- 
bour. In  my  own  case  it  is  my  precise  judgment 
upon  matters  of  dress  and  decorum  which  has 
placed  me  where  I  am.  I  do  not  profess  to  follow 
a  law.  I  set  one.  For  example,  I  am  taking  you 
to-day  to  see  the  prince  in  a  nankeen  vest.  What 
do  you  think  will  be  the  consequence  of  that?" 

My  fears  told  me  that  it  might  be  my  own 
very  great  discomfiture,  but  I  did  not  say  so. 

"  Why,  the  night  coach  will  carry  the  news  to 
London.  It  will  be  in  Brookes's  and  White's  to- 
morrow morning.  Within  a  week  St.  James 
Street  and  the  Mall  will  be  full  of  nankeen  waist- 
coats. A  most  painful  incident  happened  to  me 
once.  My  cravat  came  undone  in  the  street,  and 


THE   HOPE   OF   ENGLAND.  113 

I  actually  walked  from  Carlton  House  to  VVatier's 
in  Bruton  Street  with  the  two  ends  hanging 
loose.  Do  you  suppose  it  shook  my  position? 
The  same  evening  there  were  dozens  of  young 
bloods  walking  the  streets  of  London  with  their 
cravats  loose.  If  I  had  not  rearranged  mine 
there  would  not  be  one  tied  in  the  whole  king- 
dom now,  and  a  great  art  would  have  been 
prematurely  lost.  You  have  not  yet  begun  to 
practise  it." 

I  confessed  that  I  had  not. 

"  You  should  begin  now  in  your  youth.  I  will 
myself  teach  you  the  coup  d'archet.  By  using  a 
few  hours  in  each  day,  which  would  otherwise  be 
wasted,  you  may  hope  to  have  excellent  cravats 
in  middle  life.  The  whole  knack  lies  in  pointing 
your  chin  to  the  sky,  and  then  arranging  your 
folds  by  the  gradual  descent  of  your  lower  jaw." 

When  my  uncle  spoke  like  this  there  was  al- 
ways that  dancing,  mischievous  light  in  his  large 
blue  eyes  which  showed  me  that  this  humour  of 
his  was  a  conscious  eccentricity,  depending,  as  I 
believe,  upon  a  natural  fastidiousness  of  taste,  but 
wilfully  driven  to  grotesque  lengths  for  the  very 
reason  which  made  him  recommend  me  also  to 
develop  some  peculiarity  of  my  own.  When  I 
thought  of  the  way  in  which  he  had  spoken  of  his 
unhappy  friend  Lord  Avon,  upon  the  evening 


II4  RODNEY   STONE. 

before,  and  of  the  emotion  which  he  showed  as 
he  told  the  horrible  story,  I  was  glad  to  think 
that  there  was  the  heart  of  a  man  there,  however 
much  it  might  please  him  to  conceal  it. 

And,  as  it  happened,  I  was  very  soon  to  have 
another  peep  at  it,  for  a  most  unexpected  event 
befell  us  as  we  drew  up  in  front  of  the  Crown 
Hotel.  A  swarm  of  ostlers  and  grooms  had 
rushed  out  to  us,  and  my  uncle,  throwing  down 
the  reins,  gathered  Fidelio  on  his  cushion  from 
under  the  seat. 

"  Ambrose,"  he  cried,  "  you  may  take  Fi- 
delio." 

But  there  came  no  answer.  The  seat  behind 
us  was  unoccupied.  Ambrose  was  gone. 

We  could  hardly  believe  our  eyes  when  we 
alighted  and  found  that  it  was  really  so.  He  had 
most  certainly  taken  his  seat  there  at  Friar's  Oak, 
and  from  there  on  we  had  come  without  a  break 
as  fast  as  the  mares  could  travel.  Whither  then 
could  he  have  vanished  to? 

"He's  fallen  off  in  a  fit!"  cried  my  uncle. 
"  I'd  drive  back,  but  the  prince  is  expecting  us. 
Where's  the  landlord  ? — Here,  Coppinger,  send 
your  best  man  back  to  Friar's  Oak  as  fast  as  his 
horse  can  go,  to  find  news  of  my  valet,  Ambrose. 
See  that  no  pains  be  spared. — Now,  nephew,  we 
shall  lunch  and  then  go  up  to  the  Pavilion." 


THE   HOPE   OF  ENGLAND.  115 

My  uncle  was  much  disturbed  by  the  strange 
loss  of  his  valet,  the  more  so  as  it  was  his  custom 
to  go  through  a  whole  series  of  washings  and 
changings  after  even  the  shortest  journey.  For 
my  own  part,  mindful  of  my  mother's  advice,  I 
carefully  brushed  the  dust  from  my  clothes,  and 
made  myself  as  neat  as  possible.  My  heart  was 
down  in  my  boots  now  that  I  had  the  immediate 
prospect  of  meeting  so  great  and  terrible  a  per- 
son as  the  Prince  of  Wales.  I  had  seen  his  flaring 
yellow  barouche  flying  through  Friar's  Oak  many 
a  time,  and  had  hallooed  and  waved  my  hat  with 
the  others  as  it  passed,  but  never  in  my  wildest 
dreams  had  it  entered  my  head  that  I  should  ever 
be  called  upon  to  look  him  in  the  face  and  answer 
his  questions.  My  mother  had  taught  me  to 
regard  him  with  reverence,  as  one  of  those  whom 
God  had  placed  to  rule  over  us,  but  my  uncle 
astonished  and  shocked  me  by  laughing  when  I 
told  him  how  I  felt. 

"  You  are  old  enough  to  see  things  as  they 
are,  nephew,"  said  he,  "  and  your  knowledge  of 
them  is  the  badge  that  you  are  in  that  inner  circle 
where  I  mean  to  place  you.  There  is  no  one 
who  knows  the  prince  better  than  I  do,  and  there 
is  no  one  who  trusts  him  less.  A  stranger  contra- 
diction of  qualities  was  never  gathered  under  one 
hat.  He  is  a  man  who  is  always  in  a  hurry,  and 


H6  RODNEY   STONE. 

yet  has  never  anything  to  do.  He  fusses  about 
things  with  which  he  has  no  concern,  and  he  neg- 
lects every  obvious  duty.  He  is  generous  to 
those  who  have  no  claim  upon  him,  but  he  has 
ruined  his  tradesmen  by  refusing  to  pay  his  just 
debts.  He  is  affectionate  to  casual  acquaintances, 
but  he  dislikes  his  father,  loathes  his  mother,  and 
is  not  on  speaking  terms  with  his  wife.  He  claims 
to  be  the  first  gentleman  of  England,  but  the  gen- 
tlemen of  England  have  responded  by  blackball- 
ing his  friends  at  their  clubs,  and  by  warning  him 
off  from  Newmarket,  under  suspicion  of  having 
tampered  with  a  horse.  He  spends  his  days  in 
uttering  noble  sentiments  and  contradicting  them 
by  ignoble  actions.  He  tells  stories  of  his  own 
doings  which  are  so  grotesque  that  they  can  only 
be  explained  by  the  madness  which  runs  in  his 
blood. 

"And  yet,  with  all  this,  he  can  be  courteous, 
and  dignified,  and  kindly  upon  occasion,  and  I 
have  seen  an  impulsive  good-heartedness  in  the 
man  which  has  made  me  overlook  faults  which 
come  mainly  from  his  being  placed  in  a  position 
which  no  man  upon  this  earth  was  ever  less  fitted 
to  fill.  But  this  is  between  ourselves,  nephew, 
and  now  you  will  come  with  me  and  you  will 
form  an  opinion  for  yourself." 

It  was  but  a  short  walk,  and  yet  it  took  us 


THE    HOPE   OF   ENGLAND.  \\j 

some  time,  for  my  uncle  stalked  along  with  great 
dignity,  his  lace-bordered  handkerchief  in  one 
hand,  and  his  cane  with  the  clouded  amber  head 
dangling  from  the  other.  Every  one  that  we  met 
seemed  to  know  him,  and  their  hats  flew  from 
their  heads  as  we  passed.  He  took  little  notice 
of  these  greetings,  save  to  give  a  nod  to  one,  or 
to  slightly  raise  his  forefinger  to  another.  It 
chanced,  however,  that  as  we  turned  into  the 
Pavilion  grounds  we  met  a  magnificent  team  of 
four  coal-black  horses,  driven  by  a  rough-looking, 
middle-aged  fellow  in  an  old  weather-stained  cape. 
There  was  nothing  that  I  could  see  to  distinguish 
him  from  any  professional  driver,  save  that  he 
was  chatting  very  freely  with  a  dainty  little 
woman,  who  was  perched  on  the  box  beside  him. 

"Hullo,  Charlie!  Good  drive  down?"  he 
cried. 

My  uncle  bowed  and  smiled  to  the  lady. 

"  Broke  it  at  Friar's  Oak,"  said  he.  "  I've  my 
light  curricle  and  two  new  mares,  half-thorough- 
bred, half-Cleveland  bay." 

"What  d'ye  think  of  my  team  of  blacks?" 
cried  the  other. 

>.  "  Yes,  Sir  Charles,  what  d'ye  think  of  them  ? 
Ain't  they  damnation  smart?"  said  the  little 
woman. 

"  Plenty  of  power.     Good  horses  for  the  Sus- 


Ug  RODNEY   STONE. 

sex  clay.  Too  thick  about  the  fetlocks  for  me.  I 
like  to  travel." 

"  Travel  ?  "  cried  the  woman,  with  extraordi- 
nary vehemence.  "  Why,  what  the "  and  she 

broke  into  such  language  as  I  had  never  heard 
even  from  a  man's  lips  before.  "  We'd  start  with 
our  swingle-bars  touching,  and  we'd  have  your 
dinner  ordered,  cooked,  and  laid  before  you  were 
there  to  eat  it." 

"  By  God,  yes ;  Letty  is  right ! "  cried  the 
man.  "  D'you  start  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Jack." 

"  Well,  I'll  make  you  an  offer.  Look  ye,  here, 
Charlie.  I'll  spring  my  cattle  from  the  Castle 
Square  at  quarter  before  nine.  You  can  follow 
as  the  clock  strikes.  I've  double  the  horses  and 
double  the  weight.  If  you  so  much  as  see  me  be- 
fore we  cross  Westminster  bridge  I'll  pay  you  a 
cool  hundred.  If  not,  it's  my  money,  play  or  pay. 
Is  it  a  match  ?  " 

"  Very  good,"  said  my  uncle,  and,  raising  his 
hat,  he  led  the  way  into  the  grounds.  As  I  fol- 
lowed I  saw  the  woman  take  the  reins,  while 
the  man  looked  after  us,  and  squirted  a  jet  of 
tobacco  juice  from  between  his  teeth  in  coach- 
man fashion. 

"  That's  Sir  John  Lade,"  said  my  uncle,  "  one 
of  the  richest  men  and  best  whips  in  England. 


THE    HOPE   OF   ENGLAND. 

There  isn't  a  professional  on  the  road  that  can 
handle  either  his  tongue  or  his  ribbons  better,  but 
his  wife,  Lady  Letty,  is  his  match  with  the  one  or 
the  other." 

"  It  was  dreadful  to  hear  her,"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  it's  her  eccentricity.  We  all  have  them, 
and  she  amuses  the  prince.  Now,  nephew,  keep 
close  at  my  elbow  and  have  your  eyes  open  and 
your  mouth  shut." 

Two  lines  of  magnificent  red  and  gold  foot- 
men, who  guarded  the  door,  bowed  deeply  as  my 
uncle  and  I  passed  between  them,  he  with  his 
head  in  the  air  and  a  manner  as  if  he  entered  into 
his  own,  while  I  tried  to  look  assured,  though 
my  heart  was  sinking  within  me.  Within  there 
was  a  high  and  large  hall  ornamented  with  East- 
ern decorations  which  corresponded  with  the 
domes  and  minarets  of  the  exterior.  A  number 
of  people  were  moving  quickly  about,  forming 
into  groups  and  whispering  to  each  other.  One 
of  these,  a  short,  burly,  red-faced  man,  full  of  fuss 
and  self-importance,  came  hurrying  up  to  my 
uncle. 

"  I  have  de  goot  news,  Sir  Charles,"  he  said, 
sinking  his  voice  as  one  who  speaks  of  weighty 
measures.  "  Es  ist  vollendet — dat  is,  I  have  it  at 
last  thoroughly  done." 

"  Well,  serve  it  hot,"  said  my  uncle,  coldly, 


12Q  RODNEY   STONE. 

"  and  see  that  the  sauces  are  a  little  better  than 
when  last  I  dined  at  Carlton  House." 

"  Ah,  mine  Gott !  you  tink  I  talk  of  cooking  ? 
It  is  the  affair  of  the  prince  dat  I  talk  of.  Dat  is 
one  little  vol-auvent  dat  is  worth  one  hundred 
tousand  pound.  Ten  per  cent  and  double  to  be 
repaid  when  de  royal  pappa  die.  Alles  ist  fertig. 
Goldschmidt  of  de  Hague  have  took  it  up,  and 
the  Dutch  public  has  subscribe  de  money." 

"  Heaven  help  the  Dutch  public !  "  muttered 
my  uncle,  as  the  fat  little  man  bustled  off  with  his 
news  to  some  newcomer.  "  That's  the  prince's 
famous  cook,  nephew.  He  has  not  his  equal  in 
England  for  a  filet  saute"  aux  champignons.  He 
manages  his  master's  money  affairs." 

"  The  cook!  "  I  exclaimed,  in  bewilderment. 

"  You  look  surprised,  nephew." 

"  I  should  have  thought  that  some  respectable 
banking  firm " 

My  uncle  inclined  his  lips  to  my  ear. 

"  No  respectable  house  would  touch  them," 
he  whispered. — "  Ah,  Mellish,  is  the  prince  with- 
in?" 

"  In  the  private  saloon,  Sir  Charles,"  said  the 
gentleman  addressed. 

"  Any  one  with  him  ?  " 

"  Sheridan  and  Francis.  He  said  he  expected 
you." 


THE    HOPE   OF    ENGLAND.  I2i 

"  Then  we  shall  go  through." 

I  followed  him  through  the  strangest  succes- 
sion of  rooms,  full  of  curious  barbaric  splendour, 
which  impressed  me  as  being  very  rich  and  won- 
derful, though  perhaps  I  should  think  differently 
now.  Gold  and  scarlet,  in  arabesque  designs, 
gleamed  upon  the  walls,  with  gilt  dragons  and 
monsters  writhing  along  cornices  and  out  of  cor- 
ners. Finally,  a  footman  opened  a  door,  and  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  prince's  own  private  apart- 
ment. 

Two  gentlemen  were  lounging  in  a  very  easy 
fashion  upon  luxurious  fauteuils  at  the  farther 
end  of  the  room,  and  a  third  stood  between  them, 
his  thick,  well-formed  legs  somewhat  apart  and 
his  hands  clasped  behind  him.  The  sun  was  shin- 
ing in  upon  them  through  a  side  window,  and  I 
can  see  the  three  faces  now — one  in  the  dusk,  one 
in  the  light,  and  one  cut  across  by  the  shadow. 
Of  those  at  the  sides,  I  recall  the  reddish  nose 
and  dark  flashing  eyes  of  the  one,  and  the  hard, 
austere  face  of  the  other,  with  the  high  coat  col- 
lars and  many-wreathed  cravats.  These  I  took  in 
at  a  glance,  but  it  was  upon  the  man  in  the  centre 
that  my  gaze  was  fixed,  for  this  I  knew  must  be 
the  Prince  of  Wales. 

George  was  then  in  his  forty-first  year,  and, 
with  the  help  of  his  tailor  and  his  hairdresser,  he 


122  RODNEY   STONE. 

might  have  passed  as  somewhat  less.  The  sight 
of  him  put  me  at  my  ease,  for  he  was  a  merry- 
looking  man,  handsome,  too,  in  a  portly,  full- 
blooded  way,  with  laughing  eyes  and  pouting, 
sensitive  lips.  His  nose  was  turned  upward, 
which  increased  the  good-humoured  effect  of  his 
countenance  at  the  expense  of  its  dignity.  His 
cheeks  were  pale  and  sodden,  like  those  of  a  man 
who  lived  too  well  and  took  too  little  exercise. 
He  was  dressed  in  a  single-breasted  black  coat, 
buttoned  up  to  his  neck,  a  pair  of  leather  panta- 
loons stretched  tightly  across  his  broad  thighs, 
polished  Hessian  boots,  and  a  huge  white  neck- 
cloth. 

"  Hullo,  Tregellis !  "  he  cried,  in  the  cheeriest 
fashion,  as  my  uncle  crossed  the  threshold,  and 
then  suddenly  the  smile  faded  from  his  face,  and 
his  eyes  gleamed  with  resentment.  "What  the 
devil  is  this  ?  "  he  shouted,  angrily. 

A  thrill  of  fear  passed  through  me  as  I 
thought  that  it  was  my  appearance  which  had 
produced  this  outburst.  But  his  eyes  were 
gazing  past  us,  and,  glancing  round,  we  saw 
that  a  little  man  in  a  brown  coat  and  scratch 
wig  had  followed  so  closely  at  our  heels  that 
the  footmen  had  let  him  pass,  under  the  impres- 
sion that  he  was  of  our  party.  His  face  was 
very  red,  and  the  folded  blue  paper  which  he 


THE   HOPE   OF   ENGLAND.  123 

carried  in  his  hand  shook  and  crackled  in  his 
excitement. 

"  Why,  it's  Vuillamy,  the  furniture  man ! "  cried 
the  prince.  "  Damme,  am  I  to  be  dunned  in  my 
own  private  room  ?  Where's  Mellish  ?  Where's 
Townshend?  What  the  devil  is  Tom  Tring 
doing-?  " 

"  I  wouldn't  have  intruded,  your  Royal  High- 
ness, but  I  must  have  the  money — or  even  a  thou- 
sand on  account  would  do." 

"  Must  have  it,  must  you,  Vuillamy  ?  That's 
a  fine  word  to  use.  I  pay  my  debts  in  my  own 
time,  and  damme  I'm  not  to  be  bullied. — Turn 
him  out,  footman !  Take  him  away  !  " 

"  If  I  don't  get  it  by  Monday  I  shall  be  in  your 
papa's  bench,"  wailed  the  little  man,  and  as  the 
footman  led  him  out  we  could  hear  him,  amid 
shouts  of  laughter,  still  protesting  that  he  would 
wind  up  in  papa's  bench. 

"  That's  the  very  place  for  a  furniture  man," 
said  the  man  with  the  red  nose. 

"  It  should  be  the  longest  bench  in  the  world, 
Sherry,"  answered  the  prince,  "  for  a  good  many 
of  his  subjects  will  want  seats  on  it. — Very  glad 
to  see  you  back,  Tregellis,  but  you  must  really  be 
more  careful  what  you  bring  in  upon  your  skirts. 
It  was  only  yesterday  that  we  had  a  damned 
Dutchman  here  howling  about  some  arrears  of 


124 


RODNEY   STONE. 


interest  and  the  devil  knows  what.  '  My  good 
fellow,'  said  I, '  as  long  as  the  Commons  starve  me 
I  have  to  starve  you,'  and  so  the  matter  ended." 

"  I  think,  sir,  that  the  Commons  would  respond 
now  if  the  matter  were  fairly  put  before  them  by 
Charlie  Fox  or  myself,"  said  Sheridan. 

The  prince  burst  out  against  the  Commons 
with  an  energy  of  hatred  that  one  would  scarce 
expect  from  that  chubby,  good-humoured  face. 

"  Why,  damn  them  !  "  he  cried.  "  After  all 
their  preaching  and  throwing  my  father's  model 
life,  as  they  called  it,  in  my  teeth,  they  had  to  pay 
his  debts  to  the  tune  of  nearly  a  million,  while  I 
can't  get  a  hundred  thousand  out  of  them.  And 
look  at  all  they've  done  for  my  brothers !  York 
is  commander- in -chief.  Clarence  is  admiral. 
What  am  I  ?  Colonel  of  a  damned  dragoon  regi- 
ment, under  the  orders  of  my  own  younger 
brother!  It's  my  mother  that  is  at  the  bottom  of 
it  all.  She  always  tried  to  hold  me  back. — But 
what's  this  you've  brought,  Tregellis,  eh?" 

My  uncle  put  his  hand  on  my  sleeve  and  led 
me  forward. 

"  This  is  my  sister's  son,  sir,  Rodney  Stone  by 
name,"  said  he.  "  He  is  coming  with  me  to  Lon- 
don, and  I  thought  it  right  to  begin  by  presenting 
him  to  your  Royal  Highness." 

"Quite  right!  quite  right !"  said  the  prince, 


THE   HOPE  OF   ENGLAND.  I25 

with  a  good-natured  smile,  patting  me  in  a  friend- 
ly way  upon  the  shoulder.  "  Is  your  mother 
living?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  I. 

"  If  you  are  a  good  son  to  her,  you  will  never 
go  wrong.  And,  mark  my  words,  Mr.  Rodney 
Stone,  you  should  honour  the  king,  love  your 
country,  and  uphold  the  glorious  British  constitu- 
tion." 

When  I  thought  of  the  energy  with  which  he 
had  just  been  damning  the  House  of  Commons, 
I  could  scarce  keep  from  smiling,  and  I  saw 
Sheridan  put  his  hand  up  to  his  lips. 

"  You  have  only  to  do  this,  to  show  a  regard 
for  your  word,  and  to  keep  out  of  debt,  in  order 
to  insure  a  happy  and  respected  life.  What  is 
your  father,  Mr.  Stone  ?  Royal  navy  !  Well,  'tis 
a  glorious  service.  I  have  Jiad  a  touch  of  it  my- 
self.— Did  I  ever  tell  how  I  laid  aboard  the 
French  sloop  of  war  Minerve — eh,  Tregellis  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  my  uncle.  Sheridan  and 
Francis  exchanged  glances  behind  the  prince's 
back. 

"  She  was  flying  her  tricolour  out  there  within 
sight  of  my  pavilion  windows.  Never  saw  such 
damned  impudence  in  my  life !  It  would  take  a 
man  of  less  mettle  than  me  to  stand  it.  Out  I 
went  in  my  little  cock  boat — you  know,  my  sixty- 


126  RODNEY   STONE. 

ton  yawl,  Charlie — with  two  four-pounders  on 
each  side  and  a  six-pounder  in  the  bows." 

"Well,  sir!  well,  sir!  and  what  then,  sir?" 
cried  Francis,  who  appeared  to  be  an  irascible, 
rough-tongued  man. 

"  You  will  permit  me  to  tell  the  story  in  my 
own  way,  Sir  Philip,"  said  the  prince  with  dig- 
nity. "  I  was  about  to  say  that  our  metal  was  so 
light,  that  I  give  you  my  word,  gentlemen,  I 
carried  my  port  broadside  in  one  coat  pocket  and 
my  starboard  in  the  other.  Up  we  came  to  the 
big  Frenchman,  took  her  fire,  and  scraped  the 
paint  off  her  before  we  let  drive.  But  it  was  no 
use.  By  God,  gentlemen,  our  balls  just  stuck  in 
her  timbers  like  stones  in  a  mud  wall.  She  had 
her  nettings  up,  but  we  scrambled  aboard,  and  at 
it  we  went,  hammer  and  anvil.  It  was  a  sharp 
twenty  minutes,  but  we  beat  her  people  down  be- 
low, made  the  hatches  fast  on  them,  and  towed 
her  into  Seaham. — Surely,  you  were  with  us, 
Sherry?" 

"  I  was  in  London  at  the  time,"  said  Sheridan, 
gravely. 

"  You  can  vouch  for  it,  Francis  ?  " 

"  I  can  vouch  to  having  heard  your  Highness 
tell  the  story." 

"  It  was  a  rough  little  bit  of  cutlass  and  pistol 
work.  But  for  my  own  part  I  like  the  rapier. 


THE   HOPE   OF    ENGLAND. 


127 


It's  a  gentleman's  weapon.  You  heard  of  my 
bout  with  the  Chevalier  d'Eon  ?  I  had  him  at 
my  sword  point  for  forty  minutes  at  Angelo's. 
He  is  one  of  the  best  blades  in  Europe,  but  I 
was  a  little  too  supple  in  the  wrist  for  him.  '  I 
thank  God  there  was  a  button  on  your  Highness's 
foil,'  said  he,  when  we  had  finished  our  breather. 
— By  the  way,  you're  a  bit  of  a  duellist  yourself, 
Tregellis  !  How  often  have  you  been  out  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  go  when  I  needed  exercise,"  said 
my  uncle,  carelessly,  "  but  I  have  taken  to  tennis 
now  instead.  A  painful  incident  happened  the 
last  time  that  I  was  out,  and  it  sickened  me  of  it." 

"  You  killed  your  man  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  sir,  it  was  worse  than  that.  I  had  a 
coat  that  Weston  has  never  equalled.  To  say 
that  it  fitted  me  is  not  to  express  it.  It  was  me — 
like  the  hide  on  a  horse.  I've  had  sixty  from 
him  since,  but  he  could  never  approach  it.  The 
sit  of  the  collar  brought  tears  into  my  eyes,  sir, 
when  first  I  saw  it,  and  as  to  the  waist " 

"  But  the  duel,  Tregellis  !  "  cried  the  prince. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  wore  it  at  the  duel,  like  the 
thoughtless  fool  that  I  was.  It  was  Major  Hun- 
ter of  the  Guards,  with  whom  I  had  had  a  little 
tracasserie  because  I  hinted  that  he  should  not 
come  into  Brooks's  smelling  of  the  stables.  I 
fired  first  and  missed.  He  fired,  and  I  shrieked  in 


I28  RODNEY  STONE. 

despair.  '  He's  hit !  A  surgeon  !  a  surgeon  ! ' 
they  cried.  '  A  tailor  !  a  tailor  ! '  said  I ;  for 
there  was  a  double  hole  through  the  tails  of  my 
masterpiece.  No,  it  was  past  all  repair.  You 
may  laugh,  sir,  but  I'll  never  see  the  like  of  it 
again." 

I  had  seated  myself  on  a  settee  in  the  corner, 
upon  the  prince's  invitation,  and  very  glad  I  was 
to  remain  quiet  and  unnoticed,  listening  to  the 
talk  of  these  men.  It  was  all  in  the  same  extrava- 
gant vein,  garnished  with  many  senseless  oaths ; 
but  I  observed  this  difference,  that  whereas  my 
uncle  and  Sheridan  had  something  of  humour  in 
their  exaggeration,  Francis  tended  always  to  ill- 
nature,  and  the  prince  to  self-glorification.  Fi- 
nally, the  conversation  turned  to  music — 1  am  not 
sure  that  my  uncle  did  not  artfully  bring  it  there 
— and  the  prince,  hearing  from  him  of  my  tastes, 
would  have  it  that  I  should  then  and  there  sit 
down  at  the  wonderful  little  piano,  all  inlaid  with 
mother-of-pearl,  which  stood  in  the  corner,  and 
play  him  the  accompaniment  to  his  song.  It  was 
called,  as  I  remember,  "  The  Briton  Conquers  but 
to  Save,"  and  he  rolled  it  out  in  a  very  fair  bass 
voice,  the  others  joining  in  the  chorus  and  clap- 
ping vigorously  when  he  finished. 

"  Bravo,  Mr.  Stone  !  "  said  he.  "  You  have  an 
excellent  touch,  and  I  know  what  I  am  talking 


THE    HOPE   OF   ENGLAND.  i2g 

about  when  I  speak  of  music ;  Cramer  of  the 
opera  said  only  the  other  day  that  he  had  rather 
hand  his  baton  to  me  than  to  any  amateur  in  Eng- 
land.— Hullo,  it's  Charlie  Fox,  by  all  that's  won- 
derful !  " 

He  had  run  forward  with  much  warmth  and 
was  shaking  the  hand  of  a  singular-looking  per- 
son who  had  just  entered  the  room.  The  new- 
comer was  a  stout,  square-built  man,  plainly  and 
almost  carelessly  dressed,  with  an  uncouth  man- 
ner and  a  rolling  gait.  His  age  might  have  been 
something  over  fifty,  and  his  swarthy,  harshly 
featured  face  was  already  deeply  lined  either  by 
his  years  or  by  his  excesses.  I  have  never  seen 
a  countenance  in  which  the  angel  and  the  devil 
were  more  obviously  wedded. 

Above  was  the  high,  broad  forehead  of  the 
philosopher,  with  keen,  humorous  eyes  looking 
out  from  under  thick,  strong  brows.  Below  was 
the  heavy  jowl  of  the  sensualist,  curving  in  a 
broad  crease  over  his  cravat  That  brow  was  the 
brow  of  the  public  Charles  Fox,  the  thinker,  the 
philanthropist,  the  man  who  rallied  and  led  the 
Liberal  party  during  the  twenty  most  hazardous 
years  of  its  existence.  That  jaw  was  the  jaw  of 
the  private  Charles  Fox,  the  gambler,  the  liber- 
tine, the  drunkard.  Yet  to  his  sins  he  never 
added  the  crowning  one  of  hypocrisy.  His  vices 


130 


RODNEY   STONE. 


were  as  open  as  his  virtues.  In  some  quaint  freak 
of  Nature  two  spirits  seemed  to  have  been  joined 
in  one  body,  and  the  same  frame  to  contain  the 
best  and  the  worst  man  of  his  age. 

"  I've  run  down  from  Chertsey,  sir,  just  to 
shake  you  by  the  hand  and  to  make  sure  that  the 
Tories  have  not  carried  you  off." 

"Damnation,  Charlie  !  you  know  that  I  sink  or 
swim  with  my  friends!  A  Whig  I  started,  and  a 
Whig  I  shall  remain." 

I  thought  that  I  could  read  upon  Fox's  dark 
face  that  he  was  by  no  means  so  confident  about 
the  prince's  principles. 

"  Pitt  has  been  at  you,  sir,  I  understand." 

"  Yes,  confound  him  !  I  hate  the  sight  of  that 
damned  sharp-pointed  nose  of  his  which  he  wants 
to  be  forever  poking  into  my  affairs.  He  and 
Addington  have  been  boggling  about  the  debts 
again.  Why,  look  ye,  Charlie,  if  Pitt  held  me  in 
contempt  he  could  not  behave  different." 

I  gathered  from  the  smile  which  flittered  over 
Sheridan's  expressive  face  that  this  was  exactly 
what  Pitt  did  do.  But  straightway  they  all 
plunged  into  politics,  varied  by  the  drinking  of 
sweet  maraschino,  which  a  footman  brought 
round  upon  a  salver.  The  king,  the  queen,  the 
Lords  and  the  Commons  were  each  in  succession 
cursed  by  the  prince,  in  spite  of  the  excellent  ad- 


THE   HOPE   OF   ENGLAND.  131 

vice  which  he  had  given  me  about  the  British 
constitution. 

"  Why,  they  allow  me  so  little  that  I  can't  look 
after  my  own  people.  There  are  a  dozen  annui- 
ties to  old  servants  and  the  like,  and  it's  all  I  can 
do  to  scrape  the  money  together  to  pay  them. 
However,  my " — he  pulled  himself  up  and 
coughed  in  a  consequential  way — "  my  financial 
agent  has  arranged  for  a  loan,  repayable  upon  the 
king's  death.  This  liqueur  isn't  good  for  either 
of  us,  Charlie.  We're  both  getting  damned  stout." 

"  I  can't  get  my  exercise,  for  the  gout,"  said 
Fox. 

"  I  am  blooded  fifty  ounces  a  month,  but  the 
more  I  take  the  more  1  make. — You  wouldn't 
think  to  look  at  us,  Tregellis,  that  we  could  do 
what  we  have  done. — We've  had  some  days  and 
nights  together,  Charlie." 

Fox  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"  You  remember  how  we  posted  to  Newmar- 
ket before  the  races.  We  took  a  public  coach, 
Tregellis,  clapped  the  postillions  into  the  rumble, 
and  jumped  onto  their  places.  Charlie  rode  the 
leader  and  I  the  wheeler.  A  damned  fellow 
wouldn't  let  us  through  his  turnpike,  and  Charlie 
hopped  off  and  had  his  coat  off  in  a  minute.  The 
fellow  thought  he  had  to  do  with  a  fighting  man, 
and  soon  cleared  the  way  for  us." 


l$2  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  By  the  way,  sir,  speaking  of  fighting  men,  I 
give  a  supper  to  the  fancy  at  the  Wagon  and 
Horses  on  Friday  next,"  said  my  uncle.  "  If  you 
should  chance  to  be  in  town  they  would  think  it  a 
great  honour  if  you  should  condescend  to  look  in 
upon  us." 

"  I've  not  seen  a  fight  since  I  saw  Tom  Tyne, 
the  tailor,  kill  Earl  fourteen  years  ago.  I  swore 
off  then,  and  you  know  me  as  a  man  of  my  word, 
Tregellis.  Of  course,  I've  been  at  the  ringside 
incog,  many  a  time,  but  never  as  the  Prince  of 
Wales." 

"  We  should  be  vastly  honoured  if  you  would 
come  incog,  to  our  supper,  sir." 

"  Well,  well,  Sherry,  make  a  note  of  it.  We'll 
be  at  Carlton  House  on  Friday.  The  prince  can't 
come,  you  know,  Tregellis,  but  you  might  reserve 
a  chair  for  the  Earl  of  Chester." 

"Sir,  we  shall  be  proud  to  see  the  Earl  of 
Chester  there,"  said  my  uncle. 

"  By  the  way,  Tregellis,"  said  Fox,  "  there's 
some  rumour  about  your  having  a  sporting  bet 
with  Sir  Lothian  Hume.  What's  the  truth  of  it  ?  " 

"  Only  a  small  matter  of  a  couple  of  thous  to  a 
thou,  he  giving  the  odds.  He  has  a  fancy  to  this 
new  Gloucester  man,  Crab  Wilson,  and  I'm  to 
find  a  man  to  beat  him.  Anything  under  twenty 
or  over  thirty-five,  at  or  about  thirteen  stone." 


THE   HOPE  OF   ENGLAND. 

"  You  take  Charlie  Fox's  advice,  then,"  cried 
the  prince.  "  When  it  comes  to  handicapping  a 
horse,  playing  a  hand,  matching  a  cock,  or  pick- 
ing a  man,  he  has  the  best  judgment  in  England. 
— Now,  Charlie,  whom  have  we  got  upon  the  list 
who  can  beat  Crab  Wilson  of  Gloucester  ?  " 

I  was  amazed  at  the  interest  and  knowledge 
which  all  these  great  people  showed  about  the 
ring,  for  they  not  only  had  the  deeds  of  the  prin- 
cipal men  of  the  time — Belcher,  Mendoza,  Jackson, 
or  Dutch  Sam — at  their  fingers'  ends,  but  there 
was  no  fighting  man  so  obscure  that  they  did  not 
know  the  details  of  his  deeds  and  prospects.  The 
old  ones  and  then  the  young  were  discussed,  their 
weight,  their  gameness,  their  hitting  power,  and 
their  constitution.  Who,  as  he  saw  Sheridan  and 
Fox  eagerly  arguing  as  to  whether  Caleb  Bald- 
win, the  Westminster  costermonger,  could  hold 
his  own  with  Isaac  Bittoon  the  Jew,  would  have 
guessed  that  the  one  was  the  deepest  political 
philosopher  in  Europe,  and  that  the  other  would 
be  remembered  as  the  author  of  the  wittiest  com- 
edy and  of  the  finest  speech  of  his  generation  ? 
The  name  of  Champion  Harrison  came  very  early 
into  the  discussion,  and  Fox,  who  had  a  high  idea 
of  Crab  Wilson's  powers,  was  of  the  opinion  that 
my  uncle's  only  chance  lay  in  the  veteran  taking 
the  field  again.  "  He  may  be  slow  on  his  pins, 


RODNEY   STONE. 

but  he  fights  with  his  head,  and  he  hits  like  the 
kick  of  a  horse.  When  he  finished  Black  Baruk 
the  man  flew  across  the  outer  ring  as  well  as  the 
inner,  and  fell  among  the  spectators.  If  he  isn't 
absolutely  stale,  Tregellis,  he  is  your  best  chance." 

My  uncle  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  If  poor  Avon  were  here  we  might  do  some- 
thing with  him,  for  he  was  Harrison's  first  patron, 
and  the  man  was  devoted  to  him.  But  his  wife 
is  too  strong  for  me.  And  now,  sir,  I  must  leave 
you,  for  I  have  had  the  misfortune  to-day  to  lose 
the  best  valet  in  England,  and  I  must  make  in- 
quiry for  him.  I  thank  your  Royal  Highness  for 
your  kindness  in  receiving  my  nephew  in  so  gra- 
cious a  fashion." 

"  Till  Friday,  then,"  said  the  prince.  "  I  have 
to  go  up  to  town  in  any  case,  for  there  is  a  poor 
devil  of  an  East  India  Company's  officer  who  has 
written  to  me  in  his  distress.  If  I  can  raise  a 
few  hundreds  I  shall  see  him  and  set  things  right 
for  him. — Now,  Mr.  Stone,  you  have  your  life  be- 
fore you,  and  I  hope  it  will  be  one  which  your 
uncle  may  be  proud  of.  You  will  honour  the  king 
and  show  respect  for  the  constitution,  Mr.  Stone. 
And  hark  ye,  you  will  avoid  debt  and  bear  in 
mind  that  your  honour  is  a  sacred  thing."  So  I 
carried  away  a  last  impression  of  his  plump, 
good-natured  face,  his  high  cravat,  and  his  broad 


THE   HOPE   OF   ENGLAND. 


135 


leather  thighs.  Again  we  passed  the  strange 
rooms,  the  gilded  monsters,  and  the  gorgeous 
footmen,  and  it  was  with  relief  that  I  found  my- 
self out  in  the  open  air  once  more,  with  the  broad 
blue  sea  in  front  of  us  and  the  fresh  evening 
breeze  upon  our  faces. 


10 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  BRIGHTON  ROAD. 

MY  uncle  and  I  were  up  betimes  next  morn- 
ing, but  he  was  much  out  of  temper,  for  no  news 
had  been  heard  of  his  valet  Ambrose.  He  had, 
indeed,  become  like  one  of  those  ants  of  which  I 
have  read,  who  are  so  accustomed  to  be  fed  by 
smaller  ants  that  when  they  are  left  to  themselves 
they  die  of  hunger.  It  was  only  by  the  aid  of  a 
man  whom  the  landlord  procured,  and  of  Fox's 
valet,  who  had  been  sent  expressly  across,  that 
his  toilet  was  at  last  performed. 

"  I  must  win  this  race,  nephew,"  said  he,  when 
we  had  finished  breakfast.  "  I  can't  afford  to  be 
beat.  Look  out  of  the  window  and  see  if  the 
Lades  are  there." 

"  I  see  a  red  four-in-hand  in  the  square,  and 
there  is  a  crowd  round  it.  Yes,  I  see  the  lady 
upon  the  box  seat." 

"  Is  our  tandem  out?" 

"  It  is  at  the  door." 

136 


THE   BRIGHTON   ROAD.  ^7 

"  Come,  then,  and  you  shall  have  such  a  drive 
as  you  never  had  before." 

He  stood  at  the  door  pulling  on  his  long 
brown  driving  gauntlets  and  giving  his  orders  to 
the  ostlers. 

"  Every  ounce  will  tell,"  said  he.  "  We'll 
leave  that  dinner  basket  behind. — And  you  can 
keep  my  dog  for  me,  Coppinger.  You  know  him 
and  understand  him.  Let  him  have  his  warm 
milk  and  curagoa  the  same  as  usual. — Whoa,  my 
darlings,  you'll  have  your  fill  of  it  before  you 
see  Westminster  Bridge." 

"  Shall  I  put  in  the  toilet  case  ?  "  asked  the 
landlord. 

I  saw  the  struggle  upon  my  uncle's  face,  but 
he  was  true  to  his  principles. 

"  Put  it  under  the  seat — the  front  seat,"  said 
he. — "  Nephew,  you  must  keep  your  weight  as  far 
forward  as  possible.  Can  you  do  anything  on  a 
yard  of  tin  ?  Well,  if  you  can't,  we'll  leave  the 
trumpet. — Buckle  that  girth  up,  Thomas.  Have 
you  greased  the  hubs  as  I  told  you  ?  Well,  jump 
up,  nephew,  and  we'll  see  them  off." 

Quite  a  crowd  had  gathered  in  the  old  square, 
men  and  women,  dark-coated  tradesmen,  bucks 
from  the  prince's  court,  and  officers  from  Hove, 
all  in  a  buzz  of  excitement,  for  Sir  John  Lade  and 
my  uncle  were  two  of  the  most  famous  whips  of 


:  ;  v  RODNEY  STONE. 

the  time,  and  a  match  between  them  was  a  thing 
to  talk  of  for  man  j  a  long  day. 

"  The  prince  wiD  be  sorry  to  have  missed  the 
start,"  said  my  uncle.  "  He  doesn't  show  before 
midday.  —  Ah,  Jack,  good  morning  !  —  Your  servant, 
madame  !  It's  a  fine  day  for  a  little  bit  of  wag- 


As  our  tandem  came  alongside  of  the  four-in- 
hand,  with  the  two  bonny  mares  gleaming  like 
shot  silk  in  the  sunshine,  a  murmur  of  admiration 
arose  from  the  crowd.  My  uncle,  in  his  fawn. 
coloured  driving  coat,  with  all  his  harness  of  the 
same  tint,  looked  the  ideal  Corinthian  whip,  while 
Sir  John  Lade,  with  his  many-capped  coat,  his 
white  hat,  and  his  rough,  weatherbeaten  face, 
might  have  taken  his  seat  with  a  line  of  profes- 
sionals upon  an  alehouse  bench  without  any  one 
being  able  to  pick  him  out  as  one  of  the  wealthiest 
landowners  in  England. 

It  was  an  age  of  eccentricity,  but  he  had  carried 
his  peculiarities  to  a  length  which  surprised  even 
the  out-and-outers  by  marrying  the  mistress  of  a 
famous  highwayman  when  the  gallows  had  come 
between  her  and  her  lover.  She  was  perched  by 
his  side,  looking  very  smart  in  the  flowered  bon- 
net and  a  gray  travelling  dress,  while  in  front  of 
them  the  four  splendid  coal-black  horses,  with  a 
flickering  touch  of  gold  upon  their  powerful,  well- 


THE  BRIGHTON  ROAD. 

curved  quarters,  were  pawing  the  stones  in  their 
eagerness  to  be  off. 

"  It's  a  hundred  that  you  don't  see  us  before 
Westminster  with  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  start," 
said  Sir  John. 

"  111  take  you  another  hundred  that  we  pass 
you,"  answered  my  uncle. 

-Very  good.  Time's  up.  Good-bye!"  He 
gave  a  tchk  of  the  tongue,  shook  his  reins,  sainted 
with  his  whip  in  true  coachman's  style,  and  away 
he  went,  taking  the  curre  out  of  the  square  in 
a  workmanlike  fashion  that  fetched  a  cheer  from 
the  crowd.  We  heard  the  dwindling  roar  of  his 
wheels  upon  the  cobblestones  until  they  died 
away  in  the  distance. 

It  seemed  one  of  the  longest  quarters  of  an 
hour  that  I  had  ever  known  before  the  first  stroke 
of  nine  boomed  from  the  parish  clock.  For  my 
part  I  was  fidgeting  in  my  seat  in  my  impatience, 
but  my  uncle's  calm,  pale  face  and  large  blue  eyes 
were  as  tranquil  and  demure  as  those  of  the  most 
unconcerned  spectator.  He  was  keenly  on  the 
alert,  however,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
stroke  of  the  clock  and  the  thong  of  his  whip  fell 
together — not  in  a  blow,  but  in  a  sharp  snap  over 
them  both,  which  sent  us  flying  with  a  jingle 
and  a  rattle  upon  our  fifty-mile  journey.  I  heard 
a  roar  from  behind  us,  saw  the  lines  of  windows 


140 


RODNEY   STONE. 


with  staring  faces  and  waving  handkerchiefs,  and 
then  we  were  off  the  stones  and  on  to  the  good 
white  road,  which  curved  away  in  front  of  us 
with  the  sweep  of  the  green  Downs  on  either  side 
of  it. 

I  had  been  provided  with  shillings,  that  the 
turnpike  gate  might  not  stop  us,  but  my  uncle 
reined  in  the  mares,  and  took  them  at  a  very  easy 
trot  up  all  the  heavy  stretch  which  ends  in  Clay- 
ton hill.  He  let  them  go  then,  and  we  flashed 
through  Friar's  Oak  and  across  St.  John's  Com- 
mon  without  more  than  catching  a  glimpse  of  the 
yellow  cottage  which  contained  all  that  I  loved 
best.  Never  have  I  travelled  at  such  a  pace,  and 
never  have  I  felt  such  a  sense  of  exhilaration  from 
the  rush  of  keen  upland  air  upon  our  faces,  and 
from  the  sight  of  those  two  glorious  creatures, 
stretched  to  their  uttermost,  with  the  roar  of 
their  hoofs  and  the  rattle  of  our  wheels  as  the 
light  curricle  bounded  and  swayed  behind  them. 

"  It's  a  long  four  miles  uphill  from  here  to 
Hand  Cross,"  said  my  uncle,  as  we  flew  through 
Cuckfield.  "  I  must  ease  them  a  bit,  for  I  can  not 
afford  to  break  the  hearts  of  my  cattle.  They 
have  the  right  blood  in  them,  and  they  would 
gallop  until  they  dropped  if  I  were  brute  enough 
to  let  them.  Stand  up  on  the  seat,  nephew,  and 
see  if  you  can  get  a  glimpse  of  them. ' 


THE   BRIGHTON    ROAD.  !4! 

I  stood  up,  steadying  myself  upon  my  uncle's 
shoulder,  but,  though  I  could  see  for  a  mile,  or 
perhaps  a  quarter  more,  there  was  not  a  sign  of 
the  four-in-hand. 

"  If  he  has  sprung  his  cattle  up  all  these  hills 
they'll  be  spent  ere  they  see  Croydon,"  said  he. 

"  They  have  four  to  two,"  said  I. 

"  J'en  suis  bien  aise.  The  Cleveland  bay 
strain  makes  a  good,  honest  creature,  but  not 
fliers  like  these.  There  lies  Cuckfield  Place, 
where  the  Towers  are,  yonder.  Get  your  weight 
right  forward  on  the  splashboard,  now  that  we 
are  going  uphill,  nephew.  Look  at  the  action  of 
that  leader.  Did  you  ever  see  anything  more 
easy  and  more  beautiful  ?  " 

We  were  taking  the  hill  at  a  quiet  trot,  but 
even  so  we  made  the  carrier,  walking  in  the 
shadow  of  his  huge  broad- wheeled  canvas-cov- 
ered wagon,  stare  at  us  in  amazement.  Close  to 
Hand-cross  we  passed  the  Royal  Brighton  stage, 
which  had  left  at  half  past  seven,  dragging  heav- 
ily up  the  slope,  and  its  passengers  toiling  along 
in  the  dust  behind  us,  gave  us  a  cheer  as  we 
whirled  by.  At  Hand-cross  we  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  old  landlord,  hurrying  out  with  his  gin  and 
gingerbread,  but  the  dip  of  the  ground  was  down- 
ward now,  and  away  we  flew  as  fast  as  eight  gal- 
lant hoofs  could  take  us. 


I42  RODNEY   STONE. 

"  Do  you  drive,  nephew  ?  " 

"  Very  little,  sir." 

"  There  is  no  driving  on  the  Brighton  road." 

"  How  is  that,  sir?  " 

"  Too  good  a  road,  nephew.  I  have  only  to 
give  them  their  heads,  and  they  will  race  me  into 
Westminster.  It  wasn't  always  so.  When  I  was 
a  very  young  man  one  might  learn  to  handle  his 
twenty  yards  of  tape  here  as  well  as  elsewhere. 
There's  not  much  really  good  wagoning  now 
south  of  Leicestershire.  Show  me  a  man  who 
can  hit  'em  and  hold  'em  on  a  Yorkshire  daleside, 
and  that's  the  man  who  comes  from  the  right 
school." 

We  had  raced  over  Crawley  Down  and  into 
the  broad  main  street  of  Crawley  village,  flying 
between  two  country  wagons  in  a  way  which 
showed  me  that  even  now  a  driver  might  do 
something  on  the  road.  With  every  turn  I 
peered  ahead,  looking  for  our  opponents,  but  my 
uncle  seemed  to  concern  himself  very  little  about 
them,  and  occupied  himself  in  giving  me  advice 
mixed  up  with  so  many  phrases  of  the  craft  that 
it  was  all  I  could  do  to  follow  him. 

"  Keep  a  finger  for  each  or  you  will  have  your 
reins  clubbed,"  said  he.  "  As  to  the  whip,  the 
less  fanning  the  better,  if  you  have  willing  cattle, 
but  when  you  want  to  put  a  little  life  into  a 


THE   BRIGHTON   ROAD.  !43 

coach,  see  that  you  get  your  thong  onto  the 
one  that  needs  it,  and  don't  let  it  fly  round  after 
you've  hit.  I've  seen  a  driver  warm  up  the  off- 
side passenger  on  the  roof  behind  him  every  time 
he  tried  to  cut  his  off-side  wheeler.  I  believe 
that  is  their  dust  over  yonder." 

A  long  stretch  of  road  lay  before  us,  barred 
with  the  shadows  of  wayside  trees.  Through  the 
green  fields  a  lazy  blue  river  was  drawing  itself 
slowly  along,  passing  under  a  bridge  in  front  of 
us.  Beyond  was  a  young  fir  plantation,  and  over 
its  olive  line  there  rose  a  white  whirl  which 
drifted  swiftly  like  a  cloud  scud  on  a  breezy  day. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  it's  they  !  "  cried  my  uncle.  "  No 
one  else  would  travel  as  fast.  Come,  nephew, 
we're  halfway  when  we  cross  the  Mole  at  Kim- 
berham  Bridge,  and  we've  done  it  in  two  hours 
and  fourteen  minutes.  The  prince  drove  to  Carl- 
ton  House  with  a  three  tandem  in  four  hours  and 
a  half.  The  first  half  is  the  worst  half,  and  we 
might  cut  his  time  if  all  goes  well.  We  should 
make  up  between  this  and  Reigate." 

And  we  flew.  The  bay  mares  seemed  to  know 
what  that  white  puff  in  front  of  us  signified  and 
they  stretched  themselves  like  greyhounds.  We 
passed  a  phaeton  and  pair  London-bound  and  we 
left  it  behind  as  if  it  had  been  standing  still. 
Trees,  gates,  cottages  went  dancing  by.  We 


!44  RODNEY   STONE. 

heard  the  folks  shouting  from  the  field  under  the 
impression  that  we  were  a  runaway.  Faster  and 
faster  yet  they  raced,  the  hoofs  rattling  like  cas- 
tanets, the  yellow  manes  flying,  the  wheels  buzz- 
ing and  every  joint  and  rivet  creaking  and  groan- 
ing, while  the  curricle  swung  and  swayed  until  I 
found  myself  clutching  at  the  side  rail.  My  uncle 
eased  them  and  glanced  at  his  watch  as  we  saw 
the  gray  tiles  and  dingy  red  houses  of  Reigate  in 
the  hollow  beneath  us. 

"  We  did  the  last  six  well  under  twenty  min- 
utes," said  he.  "  We've  time  in  hand  now,  and  a 
little  water  at  the  Red  Lion  will  do  them  no 
harm. — Red  four-in-hand  passed,  ostler?" 

"  Just  gone,  sir." 

"  Going  hard  ?  " 

"  Galloping  full  split,  sir !  Took  the  wheel  off 
a  butcher's  cart  at  the  corner  of  the  High  Street, 
and  was  out  o'  sight  before  the  butcher's  boy 
could  see  what  had  hurt  him." 

Z-z-z-z-ach  !  went  the  long  thong,  and  away  we 
flew  once  more.  It  was  market  day  at  Redhill, 
and  the  road  was  crowded  with  carts  of  produce, 
droves  of  bullocks,  and  farmers'  gigs.  It  was  a 
sight  to  see  how  my  uncle  threaded  his  way 
among  them  all.  Through  the  market  place  we 
dashed  amid  the  shouting  of  men,  the  screaming 
of  women,  and  the  scuttling  of  poultry,  and  then 


THE   BRIGHTON   ROAD.  145 

we  were  out  in  the  country  again,  with  the  long, 
steep  incline  of  the  Redhill  road  before  us.  My 
uncle  waved  his  whip  in  the  air  with  a  shrill  view- 
halloo. 

There  was  the  dust  cloud,  rolling  up  the  hill 
in  front  of  us,  and  through  it  we  had  a  shadowy 
peep  of  the  backs  of  our  opponents,  with  a  flash 
of  brasswork  and  gleam  of  scarlet. 

"  There's  half  the  game  won,  nephew.  Now 
we  must  pass  them. — Hark  forward,  my  beauties ! 
— By  George,  if  Kitty  isn't  foundered  !  " 

The  leader  had  suddenly  gone  dead  lame.  In 
an  instant  we  were  both  out  of  the  curricle  and 
on  our  knees  beside  her.  It  was  but  a  stone, 
wedged  between  frog  and  shoe  in  the  off  fore- 
foot, but  it  was  a  minute  or  two  before  we  could 
wrench  it  out.  When  we  had  regained  our 
places  the  Lades  were  round  the  curve  of  the  hill 
and  out  of  sight. 

"  Bad  luck,"  growled  my  uncle.  "  But  they 
can't  get  away  from  us !  "  For  the  first  time  he 
-  touched  the  mares  up,  for  he  had  but  cracked  the 
whip  over  their  heads  before.  "  If  we  catch  them 
in  the  next  few  miles  we  can  spare  them  for  the 
rest  of  the  way." 

They  were  beginning  to  show  signs  of  ex- 
haustion.  Their  breath  came  quick  and  hoarse, 
and  their  beautiful  coats  gleamed  with  moisture. 


I46  RODNEY  STONE. 

At  the  top  of  the  hill,  however,  they  settled  down 
into  their  swing  once  more. 

"Where  on  earth  have  they  got  to?"  cried 
my  uncle.  "  Can  you  make  them  out  on  the  road, 
nephew  ?  " 

We  could  see  a  long,  white  ribbon  of  it,  all 
dotted  with  carts  and  wagons  coming  from  Croy- 
don  to  Red  hill,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  the  big 
red  four-in-hand. 

"  There  they  are  !  Stole  away !  Stole  away  !  " 
he  cried,  wheeling  the  mares  round  into  a  side 
road,  which  struck  to  the  right  out  of  that  which 
we  had  travelled.  "  There  you  are,  nephew  !  On 
the  brow  of  the  hill !  " 

Sure  enough,  on  the  rise  of  a  curve  upon  our 
right  the  four-in-hand  had  appeared,  the  horses 
stretched  to  the  utmost.  Our  mares  laid  them- 
selves out  gallantly,  and  the  distance  between  us 
began  slowly  to  decrease.  I  found  that  I  could 
see  the  black  band  upon  Sir  John's  white  hat, 
then  that  I  could  count  the  folds  of  his  cape, 
finally  that  I  could  see  the  pretty  features  of  his 
wife  as  she  looked  back  at  us. 

"  We're  on  the  side  road  to  Godstone  and 
Warlingham,"  said  my  uncle.  "  I  suppose  he 
thought  that  he  could  make  better  time  by  get- 
ting out  of  the  way  of  the  market  carts.  But 
we've  got  the  devil  of  a  hill  to  come  down. 


THE   BRIGHTON   ROAD. 


147 


You'll  see  some  fun,  nephew,  or  I  am  mis- 
taken." 

As  he  spoke  I  suddenly  saw  the  wheels  of  the 
four-in-hand  disappear,  then  the  body  of  it,  and 
then  the  two  figures  upon  the  box,  as  suddenly 
and  abruptly  as  if  it  had  bumped  down  the  first 
three  steps  of  some  gigantic  stairs.  An  instant 
later  we  had  reached  the  same  spot,  and  there 
was  the  road  beneath  us,  steep  and  narrow,  wind- 
ing in  long  curves  into  the  valley.  The  four-in- 
hand  was  swishing  down  it  as  hard  as  the  horses 
could  gallop. 

"  Thought  so,"  cried  my  uncle.  "  If  he  doesn't 
brake  why  should  I? — Now,  my  darlings,  one 
good  spurt  and  we'll  show  them  the  colour  of  our 
tailboard." 

We  shot  over  the  brow  and  flew  madly  down 
the  hill  with  the  great,  red  coach  roaring  and 
thundering  before  us.  Already  we  were  in  her 
dust,  so  that  we  could  see  nothing  but  the  dim 
scarlet  blur  in  the  heart  of  it,  rocking  and  rolling, 
with  its  outline  hardening  at  every  stride.  We 
could  hear  the  crack  of  the  whip  in  front  of  us 
and  the  shrill  voice  of  Lady  Lade  as  she  screamed 
to  the  horses.  My  uncle  was  very  quiet,  but 
when  I  glanced  up  at  him  I  saw  that  his  lips  were 
set  and  his  eyes  shining,  with  just  a  little  flush 
upon  each  pale  cheek.  There  was  no  need  to 


I48  RODNEY  STONE. 

urge  on  the  mares,  for  they  were  already  flying 
at  a  pace  which  could  neither  be  stopped  nor 
controlled.  Our  leaders  had  come  abreast  of  the 
near  hind  wheel,  then  of  the  near  front  one — for  a 
hundred  yards  we  did  not  gain  an  inch — and  then 
with  a  spurt  the  bay  leader  was  neck  to  neck 
with  the  black  wheeler,  and  our  fore  wheel  with- 
in an  inch  of  their  hind  one. 

"  Dusty  work !  "  said  my  uncle  quietly. 

"  Fan  'em,  Jack,  fan  'em  !  "  shrieked  the  lady. 

Sir  John  sprang  up  and  lashed  at  his  horses. 

"  Look  out,  Tregellis !  "  he  shouted.  "  There's 
a  damnation  spill  coming  for  somebody  !  " 

We  had  got  fairly  abreast  of  them  now,  the 
rumps  of  the  horses  exactly  align,  and  the  fore 
wheels  whizzing  together.  There  was  not  six 
inches  to  spare  in  the  breadth  of  the  road,  and 
every  instant  I  expected  to  feel  the  jar  of  a  lock- 
ing  wheel.  But  now,  as  we  came  out  from  the 
dust,  we  could  see  what  was  ahead,  and  my  uncle 
whistled  between  his  teeth  at  the  sight. 

Two  hundred  yards  or  so  in  front  of  us  there 
was  a  bridge  with  wooden  posts  and  rails  upon 
either  side.  The  road  narrowed  down  at  the 
point  so  that  it  was  obvious  that  the  two  car- 
riages abreast  could  not  possibly  get  over.  One 
must  give  way  to  the  other.  Already  our  wheels 
were  abreast  of  their  wheelers. 


THE   BRIGHTON   ROAD. 


149 


"  I  lead  !  "  shouted  my  uncle.  "  You  must  pull 
them,  Lade !  " 

"  Not  I !  "  he  roared. 

"  No,  by  God  !  "  shrieked  her  ladyship. — "  Fan 
'em,  Jack.  Keep  on  fanning  'em  !  " 

It  seemed  to  me  that  we  were  all  going  to 
eternity  together.  But  my  uncle  did  the  only 
thing  that  could  have  saved  us.  By  a  desperate 
effort  we  might  just  clear  the  other  coach  before 
reaching  the  mouth  of  the  bridge.  He  sprang  up 
and  lashed  right  and  left  at  the  mares,  who,  mad- 
dened by  the  unaccustomed  pain,  hurled  them- 
selves on  in  a  frenzy.  Down  we  thundered  to- 
gether, all  shouting  I  believe  at  the  top  of  our 
voices  in  the  madness  of  the  moment,  but  still  we 
were  drawing  steadily  away,  and  we  were  al- 
most clear  of  the  leaders,  when  we  flew  onto  the 
bridge.  I  glanced  back  at  the  coach,  and  I  saw 
Lady  Lade,  with  her  savage  little  white  teeth 
clinched  together,  throw  herself  forward  and  tug 
with  both  hands  at  the  near-side;  reins. 

"  Jam  them,  Jack !  "  she  cried.  "  Jam  the 

before  they  can  pass !  " 

Had  she  done  it  an  instant  sooner  we  should 
have  crashed  against  the  woodwork,  carried  it 
away,  and  been  hurled  into  the  deep  gully  below. 
As  it  was,  it  was  not  the  powerful  haunch  of  the 
black  wheeler  which  caught  us,  but  the  fore- 


RODNEY   STONE. 

quarter  of  the  leader,  which  had  not  weight 
enough  to  turn  us  from  our  course.  I  saw  a  wet 
red  seam  gape  suddenly  through  the  black  hair, 
and  next  instant  we  were  flying  alone  down  the 
road,  while  the  four-in-hand  had  halted,  and  Sir 
John  and  his  lady  were  down  in  the  road  together 
tending  to  the  wounded  horse. 

"  Easy,  now,  my  beauties ! "  cried  my  uncle, 
settling  down  into  his  seat  again  and  looking  back 
over  his  shoulder.  "  I  could  not  have  believed 
that  Sir  John  Lade  would  have  been  guilty  of 
such  a  trick  as  pulling  that  leader  across.  I  do 
not  permit  a  mauvaise  plaisanterie  of  that  sort. 
He  shall  hear  from  me  to-night." 

"  It  was  the  lady,"  said  I.  My  uncle's  brow 
cleared,  and  he  began  to  laugh. 

"It  was  little  Letty,  was  it?"  said  he.  "I 
might  have  known  it.  There's  a  touch  of  the 
late  lamented  sixteen-string-Jack  about  the  trick. 
Well,  it  is  only  messages  of  another  kind  that  I 
send  to  a  lady,  so  we'll  just  drive  on  our  way, 
nephew,  and  thank  our  stars  that  we  bring  whole 
bones  over  the  Thames." 

We  stopped  at  the  Greyhound  at  Croydon, 
where  the  two  good  little  mares  were  sponged  and 
petted  and  fed,  after  which,  at  an  easier  pace,  we 
made  our  way  through  Norbury  and  Streatham. 
At  last  the  fields  grew  fewer  and  the  walls  longer, 


THE   BRIGHTON   ROAD.  !$! 

the  outlying  villas  closed  up  thicker  and  thicker, 
until  their  shoulders  met,  and  we  were  driving 
between  a  double  line  of  houses  with  garish  shops 
at  the  corners,  and  such  a  stream  of  traffic  as  I 
had  never  seen  roaring  down  the  centre.  Then 
suddenly  we  were  on  a  broad  bridge  with  a  dark 
brown  river  flowing  sulkily  beneath  it,  and  bluff- 
bowed  barges  drifting  down  upon  its  bosom.  To 
the  right  and  left  stretched  a  broken,  irregular 
line  of  many-coloured  houses  winding  along  either 
bank  as  far  as  I  could  see. 

"  That's  the  House  of  Parliament,  nephew," 
said  my  uncle,  pointing  with  his  whip,  "  and  the 
black  towers  are  Westminster  Abbe}7. — How  do, 
your  Grace  ?  How  do  ? — That's  the  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk, the  stout  man  in  blue  upon  the  swish-tailed 
mare.  Now  we  are  in  Whitehall.  There's  the 
Treasury  on  the  left,  and  the  Horse  Guards  and 
the  Admiralty,  where  the  stone  dolphins  are 
carved  above  the  gate." 

I  had  the  idea,  which  a  country-bred  lad 
brings  up  with  him,  that  London  was  merely  a 
wilderness  of  houses,  but  I  was  astonished  now  to 
see  the  green  slopes  and  the  lovely  spring  trees 
showing  between. 

"  Yes,  those  are  the  Privy  Gardens,"  said  my 
uncle,  "  and  there  is  the  window  out  of  which 
Charles  took  his  last  step  onto  the  scaffold.  You 


!j2  RODNEY   STONE. 

wouldn't  think  the  mares  had  come  fifty  miles, 
would  you  ?  See  how  les  petites  cherries  step  out 
for  the  credit  of  their  master!  Look  at  the 
barouche  with  the  sharp-featured  man  peeping  out 
of  the  window.  That's  Pitt,  going  down  to  the 
House.  We  are  coming  into  Pall  Mall  now,  and 
this  great  building  on  the  left  is  Carlton  House, 
the  prince's  palace.  There's  St.  James's,  the 
big  dingy  palace  with  the  clock  and  the  two 
red-coated  sentries  before  it.  And  here's  the 
famous  street  of  the  same  name,  nephew,  which 
is  the  very  centre  of  the  world  ;  and  here's  Jermyn 
Street  opening  out  of  it ;  and  finally  here's  my  own 
little  box,  and  we  are  well  under  the  five  hours 
from  Brighton  Old  Square." 


CHAPTER   IX. 

WAITER'S. 

MY  uncle's  house  in  Jermyn  Street  was  quite 
a  small  one — five  rooms  and  an  attic.  "  A  man 
cook  and  a  cottage,"  he  said,  "  are  all  that  a  phi- 
losopher requires."  On  the  other  hand,  it  was 
furnished  with  the  neatness  and  taste  which  be- 
longed to  his  character,  so  that  his  most  luxurious 
friends  found  something  in  the  tiny  rooms  which 
made  them  discontented  with  their  own  sumptu- 
ous mansions.  Even  the  attic,  which  had  been 
converted  into  my  bedroom,  was  the  most  perfect 
little  bijou  attic  that  could  possibly  be  imagined. 
Beautiful  and  valuable  knickknacks  filled  every 
corner  of  every  apartment,  so  that  the  house  had 
become  a  perfect  miniature  museum,  which  would 
have  delighted  a  virtuoso.  My  uncle  explained 
the  presence  of  all  these  pretty  things  with  a  shrug 
of  his  shoulders  and  a  wave  of  his  hands.  "  They 
are  des  petites  cadeaux,"  said  he,  "  but  it  would 

be  an  indiscretion  for  me  to  say  more." 

153 


154 


RODNEY   STONE. 


We  found  a  note  from  Ambrose  waiting  for  us 
which  increased  rather  than  explained  the  mys- 
tery of  his  disappearance. 

"My  dear  Sir  Charles  Tregellis,"  it  ran,  "it 
will  ever  be  a  subject  of  regret  to  me  that  the 
force  of  circumstances  should  have  compelled  me 
to  leave  your  service  in  so  abrupt  a  fashion,  but 
something  occurred  during  our  journey  from 
Friar's  Oak  to  Brighton  which  left  me  without 
any  possible  alternative.  I  trust,  however,  that 
my  absence  may  prove  to  be  merely  a  temporary 
one.  The  isinglass  recipe  for  the  shirt  fronts  is  in 
the  strong  room  at  Drummond's  Bank.  Yours 
obediently,  AMBROSE." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  fill  his  place  as  best  I 
can,"  said  my  uncle,  moodily.  "  But  how  on 
earth  could  something  have  occurred  to  make 
him  leave  me  at  a  time  when  we  were  going  full 
trot  downhill  in  my  curricle  ?  I  shall  never  find 
his  match  again,  either  for  chocolate  or  cravats. 
Je  suis  deso!6  !  But  now,  nephew,  we  must  send 
to  Weston  and  have  you  fitted  up.  It  is  not  for  a 
.gentleman  to  go  to  a  shop,  but  for  the  shop  to 
come  to  the  gentleman.  Until  you  have  your 
clothes  you  must  remain  en  retraite." 

The  measuring  was  a  most  solemn  and  serious 
function,  though  it  was  nothing  to  the  trying  on 


WATIER'S. 


155 


two  days  later,  when  my  uncle  stood  by  in  an 
agony  of  apprehension  as  each  garment  was  ad- 
justed, he  and  Weston  arguing  over  every  seam 
and  lappel  and  skirt  until  I  was  dizzy  with  turn- 
ing round  in  front  of  them.  Then  just  as  I  had 
hoped  that  all  was  settled  in  came  young  Mr. 
Brummel,  who  promised  to  be  an  even  greater 
exquisite  than  my  uncle,  and  the  whole  matter 
had  to  be  thrashed  out  between  them.  He  was  a 
good-sized  man,  this  Brummel,  with  a  long,  fair 
face,  light  brown  hair  and  sandy  side-whiskers. 
His  manner  was  languid,  his  voice  drawling,  and, 
while  he  eclipsed  my  uncle  in  the  extravagance  of 
his  speech,  he  had  not  the  same  air  of  manliness 
and  decision  which  underlay  all  my  uncle's  affec- 
tations. 

"Why,  George,"  cried  my  uncle,  "  I  thought 
you  were  with  your  regiment  ?  " 

"  I've  sent  in  my  papers,"  drawled  the  other. 

"  I  thought  it  would  come  to  that." 

"  Yes.  The  Tenth  was  ordered  to  Manchester, 
and  they  could  hardly  expect  me  to  go  to  a  place 
like  that.  Besides,  I  found  the  major  damned 
rude." 

"How  was  that?" 

"  He  expected  me  to  know  all  about  his  in- 
fernal drill,  Tregellis,  and  I  had  other  things  to 
think  of,  as  you  may  suppose.  I  had  no  difficulty 


!jj6  RODNEY   STONE. 

in  taking  my  right  place  in  parade,  for  there  was  a 
trooper  with  a  red  nose  on  a  flea-bitten  gray,  and 
I  had  observed  that  my  post  was  always  immedi- 
ately in  front  of  him.  This  saved  a  great  deal  of 
trouble.  The  other  day,  however,  when  I  came 
on  parade,  I  galloped  up  one  line  and  down  the 
other,  but  the  devil  a  glimpse  could  I  get  of  that 
long  nose  of  his  !  Then,  just  as  I  was  at  my  wits' 
end,  I  caught  sight  of  him,  all  alone  at  one  side,  so 
I  formed  up  in  front.  It  seems  he  had  been  put 
there  to  keep  the  ground,  and  the  major  so  far 
forgot  himself  as  to  say  that  I  knew  nothing  of 
my  duties." 

My  uncle  laughed,  and  Brummel  looked  me 
up  and  down  with  his  large,  intolerant  eyes. 

"  These  will  do  very  passably,"  said  he.  "  Buff 
and  blue  are  always  very  gentlemanlike.  But  a 
sprigged  waistcoat  would  have  been  better." 

"  I  think  not,"  said  my  uncle,  warmly. 

"  My  dear  Tregellis,  you  are  infallible  upon  a 
cravat,  but  you  must  allow  me  the  right  of  my 
own  judgment  upon  vests.  I  like  it  vastly  as  it 
stands,  but  a  touch  of  red  sprig  would  give  it  the 
finish  that  it  needs." 

They  argued,  with  many  examples  and  analo- 
gies, for  a  good  ten  minutes,  revolving  around 
me  at  the  same  time,  with  their  heads  on  one 
side  and  their  glasses  to  their  eyes.  It  was  a 


WATIER'S. 


157 


relief  to  me  when  they  at  last  agreed  upon  a 
compromise. 

"  You  must  not  let  anything  that  I  have  said 
shake  your  faith  in  Sir  Charles's  judgment,  Mr. 
Stone,"  said  Brummel,  very  earnestly. 

I  assured  him  that  I  should  not. 

"  If  you  were  my  nephew  I  should  expect  you 
to  follow  my  taste.  But  you  will  cut  a  very  good 
figure  as  it  is.  I  had  a  young  cousin  who  came 
up  to  town  last  year  with  a  recommendation  to 
my  care.  But  he  would  take  no  advice.  At  the 
end  of  the  second  week  I  met  him  coming 
down  St.  James  Street  in  a  snuff-coloured  coat, 
cut  by  a  country  tailor.  He  bowed  to  me. 
Of  course  I  knew  what  was  due  to  myself.  I 
looked  all  round  him  and  there  was  an  end  to 
his  career  in  town.  You  are  from  the  country, 
Mr.  Stone?" 

"  From  Sussex,  sir." 

"  Sussex !  Why,  that's  where  I  send  my  wash- 
ing to.  There  is  an  excellent  clear-starcher  living 
near  Haywards  Heath.  I  send  my  shirts  two  at 
a  time,  for  if  you  send  more  it  excites  the  woman 
and  diverts  her  attention.  I  can  not  abide  any- 
thing but  country-washing.  But  I  should  be 
vastly  sorry  to  have  to  live  there.  What  can  a 
man  find  to  do  ?  " 

"  You  don't  hunt,  George  ?  " 


!58  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  When  I  do  it's  a  woman.  But  surely  you 
don't  go  to  hounds,  Charles?" 

"  I  was  out  with  the  Belvoir  last  winter." 

"  What  amusement  can  there  be  in  flying 
about  among  a  crowd  of  greasy,  galloping  farm- 
ers? Every  man  to  his  own  taste,  but  Brookes's 
window  by  day  and  a  snug  corner  at  the  macao 
table  at  Watier's  by  night  give  me  all  I  want  for 
mind  and  body.  You  heard  how  I  plucked  Mon- 
tague the  brewer ! " 

"  I  have  been  out  of  town." 

"  I  had  eight  thousand  from  him  at  a  sitting. 
'  I  shall  drink  your  beer  in  future,  Mr.  Brewer,' 
said  I.  '  Every  blackguard  in  London  does,'  said 
he.  It  was  monstrous  impolite  of  him,  but  some 
people  can  not  lose  with  grace.  Well,  I  am  going 
down  to  Clarges  Street  to  pay  Jew  King  a  little 
of  my  interest.  Are  you  bound  that  way  ?  Well, 
good-bye,  then !  I'll  see  you  and  your  young 
friend  at  the  club  or  in  the  Mall,  no  doubt,"  and 
he  sauntered  off  upon  his  way. 

"  That  young  man  is  destined  to  take  my 
place,"  said  my  uncle,  gravely,  when  Brummel 
had  departed.  "  He  is  quite  young  and  of  no 
descent,  but  he  has  made  his  way  by  his  cool 
effrontery,  by  his  natural  taste,  and  by  his  ex- 
travagance of  speech.  There  is  no  man  who  can 
be  impolite  in  so  polished  a  fashion.  Already  his 


WATIER'S.  1 59 

opinion  is  quoted  in  the  clubs  as  a  rival  to  my 
own.  Well,  every  man  has  his  day,  and  when  I 
am  convinced  that  mine  is  past,  St.  James  Street 
will  know  me  no  more,  for  it  is  not  in  my  nature 
to  be  second  to  any  man.  But  now,  nephew,  in 
that  buff  and  blue  suit  you  may  pass  anywhere, 
so  if  you  please  we  will  step  into  my  vis-a-vis  and 
I  will  show  you  something  of  the  town." 

How  can  I  describe  all  that  we  saw  and  all 
that  we  did  upon  that  lovely  spring  day !  To  me 
it  was  as  if  I  had  been  wafted  to  a  fairy  world, 
and  my  uncle  might  have  been  some  benevolent 
enchanter  in  a  high-collared,  long-tailed  coat  who 
was  guiding  me  about  in  it.  He  showed  me  the 
West  End  streets  with  the  bright  carriages  and 
the  gayly  dressed  ladies  and  sombre-clad  men,  all 
crossing  and  hurrying  and  recrossing,  like  an 
ants'  nest  when  you  turn  it  over  with  a  stick. 
Never  had  I  formed  a  conception  of  such  endless 
banks  of  houses,  and  such  a  ceaseless  stream  of 
life  flowing  between.  Then  we  passed  down  the 
Strand,  where  the  crowd  was  thicker  than  ever, 
and  even  penetrated  beyond  Temple  Bar  and 
into  the  City,  though  my  uncle  begged  me  not 
to  mention  it  for  he  would  not  wish  it  to  be 
generally  known.  There  I  saw  the  Exchange 
and  the  Bank  and  Lloyd's  Coffee-house  with  the 
brown  -  coated,  sharp  -  faced  merchants  and  the 


l6o  RODNEY  STONE. 

hurrying  clerks,  the  huge  horses  and  the  busy 
draymen. 

It  was  a  very  different  world,  this,  from  that 
which  we  had  left  in  the  west — a  world  of  energy 
and  of  strength,  where  there  was  no  place  for  the 
listless  and  the  idle.  Young  as  I  was,  I  knew  that 
it  was  here,  in  the  forest  of  merchant  shipping,  in 
the  bales  which  swung  up  to  the  warehouse  win- 
dows, in  the  loaded  wagons  which  roared  over 
the  cobblestones,  that  the  power  of  Britain  lay. 
Here  in  the  City  of  London  was  the  tap-root  from 
which  empire  and  wealth  and  so  many  other  fine 
leaves  had  sprouted.  Fashion  and  speech  and 
manners  may  change,  and  the  city  bells  may  ring 
out  the  hours  until  the  clappers  fall  from  their 
hinges,  but  the  spirit  of  enterprise  within  that 
square  mile  or  two  of  land  must  not  change,  for 
when  it  withers  all  that  has  grown  from  it  must 
wither  also. 

We  lunched  at  Stephen's,  the  fashionable  inn 
in  Bond  Street,  where  I  saw  a  line  of  Tilburys 
and  saddle  horses  which  stretched  from  the  door 
to  the'farther  end  of  the  street.  And  thence  we 
went  to  the  Mall  in  St.  James's  Park,  and  thence 
to  Brooks's,  the  great  Whig  club,  and  thence 
again  to  Watier's,  where  the  men  of  fashion  used 
to  gamble.  Everywhere  I  met  the  same  sort  of 
men  with  their  stiff  figures  and  small  waists,  all 


WATIER'S.  l6l 

showing  the  utmost  deference  to  m j  uncle,  and, 
for  his  sake,  every  civility  to  me.  The  talk  was 
always  such  as  I  had  already  heard  at  the  Pavilion 
— talk  of  politics,  talk  of  the  king's  health,  talk  of 
the  prince's  extravagance,  of  the  expected  re- 
newal of  the  war,  of  horse  racing,  and  of  the  ring. 
I  saw,  too,  that  eccentricity  was,  as  my  uncle 
had  told  me,  the  fashion,  and  if  the  folk  upon 
the  continent  look  upon  us  even  to  this  day  as 
being  a  nation  of  lunatics,  it  is  no  doubt  a  tra- 
dition handed  down  from  the  time  when  the  only 
travellers  whom  they  were  likely  to  see  were 
drawn  from  the  class  which  I  was  now  meeting. 

It  was  an  age  of  heroism  and  of  folly.  On 
the  one  hand,  sailors  and  statesmen  of  the  quality 
of  Pitt,  Nelson,  and  afterward  Wellington,  had 
been  forced  to  the  front  by  the  imminent  menace 
of  Bonaparte.  We  were  great  in  arms,  and  were 
soon  also  to  be  great  in  literature,  for  Scott  and 
Byron  were  in  their  day  the  strongest  forces  in 
Europe.  On  the  other  hand,  a  touch  of  madness, 
real  or  assumed,  was  a  passport  through  doors 
which  were  closed  to  wisdom  and  to  virtue. 
The  man  who  could  enter  a  drawing  room  walk- 
ing upon  his  hands,  the  man  who  had  filed  his 
teeth  that  he  might  whistle  like  a  coachman,  the 
man  who  always  spoke  his  thoughts  aloud  and  so 
kept  his  guests  in  a  quiver  of  apprehension,  these 


j62  RODNEY  STONE. 

were  the  people  who  found  it  easy  to  come  to  the 
front  in  London  society.  Nor  could  the  heroism 
and  the  folly  be  kept  apart,  for  there  were  few 
who  could  quite  escape  the  contagion  of  the 
times.  In  an  age  when  the  premier  was  a  heavy 
drinker,  the  leader  of  the  opposition  a  libertine, 
and  the  Prince  of  -Wales  a  combination  of  the 
two,  it  was  hard  to  know  where  to  look  for  a 
man  whose  private  and  public  characters  were 
equally  lofty.  At  the  same  time,  with  all  its 
faults,  it  was  a  strong  age,  and  you  will  be  fortu- 
nate if  in  your  time  the  one  island  produces  five 
such  names  as  Pitt,  Fox,  Scott,  Nelson,  and  Wel- 
lington. 

It  was  in  Watier's  that  night  seated  by  my  un- 
cle on  one  of  the  red  velvet  settees  at  the  side  of 
the  room  that  I  had  pointed  out  to  me  some  of 
those  singular  characters  whose  fame  and  eccen- 
tricities are  even  now  not  wholly  forgotten  in  the 
world.  The  long,  many-pillared  room,  with  its 
mirrors  and  chandeliers,  was  crowded  with  full- 
blooded}  loud-voiced  men  about  town,  all  in  the 
same  evening  dress  of  white  silk  stockings,  cam- 
bric shirt  fronts,  and  little  flat  chapeau  bras  under 
the  arm. 

"  The  acid-faced  old  gentleman  with  the  thin 
legs  is  the  Marquis  of  Queensberry,"  said  my  un- 
cle. "  His  chaise  was  driven  nineteen  miles  in  an 


WATIER'S.  163 

hour  in  a  match  against  the  Count  Taafe,  and  he 
sent  a  message  fifty  miles  in  thirty  minutes  by 
throwing  it  from  hand  to  hand  in  a  cricket  ball. 
The  man  he  is  talking  to  is  Sir  Charles  Bunbury 
of  the  Jockey  Club,  who  had  the  prince  warned 
off  the  Heath  at  Newmarket  on  account  of  the 
in-and-out  riding  of  Sam  Chifney,  his  jockey. 
There's  Captain  Barclay  going  up  to  them  now. 
He  knows  more  about  training  than  an}'  man 
alive,  and  he  has  walked  ninety  miles  in  twenty- 
one  hours.  You  have  only  to  look  at  his  calves 
to  see  that  Nature  built  him  for  it.  There's  an- 
other walker  there,  the  man  with  the  flowered 
vest  standing  near  the  fireplace.  That  is  Buck 
Whalley,  who  walked  to  Jerusalem  in  a  long  blue 
coat,  top-boots,  and  buckskins." 

"Why  did  he  do  that,  sir?"  I  asked,  in  as- 
tonishment. 

My  uncle  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  It  was  his  humour,"  said  he.  "  He  walked 
into  society  through  it,  and  that  was  better  worth 
reaching  than  Jerusalem.  There's  Lord  Peter- 
sham, the  man  with  the  beaky  nose.  He  always 
rises  at  six  in  the  evening,  and  he  owns  the  finest 
cellar  of  snuff  in  Europe.  He's  talking  to  Lord 
Panmure,  who  can  take  his  six  bottles  of  claret 
and  argue  with  a  bishop  after  it. — Evening,  Dud- 
ley ! " 


RODNEY   STONE. 

"  Evening,  Tregellis !  "  An  elderly,  vacant- 
looking  man  had  stopped  before  us  and  was  look- 
ing me  up  and  down.  "  Some  young  cub  Charlie 
Tregellis  has  caught  in  the  country,"  he  mur- 
mured. "  He  doesn't  look  as  if  he  would  be 
much  credit  to  him. — Been  out  of  town,  Tre- 
gellis?" 

"  For  a  few  days." 

"  Hem  !  "  said  the  man,  transferring  his  sleepy 
gaze  to  my  uncle.  "  He's  looking  pretty  bad. 
He'll  be  going  into  the  country  feet  foremost 
some  of  these  days  if  he  doesn't  pull  up ! "  He 
nodded,  and  passed  on. 

"  You  mustn't  look  so  mortified,  nephew," 
said  my  uncle,  laughing.  "  That's  old  Lord 
Dudley,  and  he  has  a  trick  of  thinking  aloud. 
People  used  to  be  offended,  but  they  take  no 
notice  of  him  now.  It  was  only  last  week,  when 
he  was  dining  at  Lord  Elgin's,  that  he  apologized 
to  the  company  for  the  shocking  bad  cooking. 
He  thought  he  was  at  his  own  table,  you  see. 
It  gives  him  a  place  of  his  own  in  society. 
That's  Lord  Harewood  he  has  fastened  onto 
now.  Harewood's  peculiarity  is  to  mimic  the 
prince  in  everything.  One  day  the  prince  hid 
his  queue  behind  the  collar  of  his  coat,  so 
Harewood  cut  his  off,  thinking  that  they  were 
going  out  of  fashion.  Here's  Lumley,  the  ugly 


WATIER'S.  165 

man.  '  L'homme  laid  '  they  called  him  in  Paris. 
The  other  one  is  Lord  Foley — they  call  him  No. 
11,  on  account  of  his  thin  legs." 

"  There  is  Mr.  Brummel,  sir,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  he'll  come  to  us  presently.  That 
young  man  has  certainly  a  future  before  him. 
Do  you  observe  the  way  in  which  he  looks  round 
the  room  from  under  his  drooping  eyelids,  as 
though  it  were  a  condescension  that  he  should 
have  entered  it  ?  Small  conceits  are  intolerable, 
but  when  they  are  pushed  to  the  uttermost  they 
become  respectable. — How  do,  George?" 

"  Have  you  heard  about  Vereker  Merton  ? " 
asked  Brummel,  strolling  up  with  one  or  two 
other  exquisites  at  his  heels.  "  He  has  run  away 
with  his  father's  woman  cook,  and  actually  mar- 
ried her!" 

"What  did  Lord  Merton  do?" 

"  He  congratulated  him  warmly,  and  confessed 
that  he  had  always  underrated  his  intelligence. 
He  is  to  live  with  the  young  couple,  and  make 
a  handsome  allowance,  on  condition  that  the  bride 
sticks  to  her  old  duties.  By  the  way,  there 
was  a  rumour  that  you  were  about  to  marry, 
Tregellis?" 

"  I  think  not,"  answered  my  uncle.  "  It  would 
be  a  mistake  to  overwhelm  one  by  attentions 
which  are  a  pleasure  to  many." 


1 66  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  My  view  exactly,  and  very  neatly  expressed," 
cried  Brummel.  "  Is  it  fair  to  break  a  dozen 
hearts  in  order  to  intoxicate  one  with  rapture  ? 
I'm  off  to  the  continent  next  week." 

"Bailiffs?"  asked  one  of  his  companions. 

"  Too  bad,  Pierrepoint.  No,  no,  it  is  pleasure 
and  instruction  combined.  Besides,  it  is  necessary 
to  go  to  Paris  for  your  little  things,  and  if  there 
is  a  chance  of  war  breaking  out  again  it  would 
be  well  to  lay  in  a  supply." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  my  uncle,  who  seemed  to 
have  made  up  his  mind  to  outdo  Brummel 
in  extravagance.  "  I  used  to  get  my  sulphur- 
coloured  gloves  from  the  Palace  Royal.  When 
the  war  broke  out  in  '93  I  was  cut  off  from  them 
for  nine  years.  Had  it  not  been  for  a  lugger, 
which  I  specially  hired  to  smuggle  them,  I 
might  have  been  reduced  to  English  tan." 

"  The  English  are  excellent  at  a  flatiron  or  a 
kitchen  poker,"  said  Brummel,  "  but  anything 
more  delicate  is  beyond  them." 

"  Our  tailors  are  good,"  cried  my  uncle,  "  but 
our  stuffs  lack  taste  and  variety.  The  war  has 
made  us  more  rococo  than  ever.  It  has  cut  us 
off  from  travel,  and  there  is  nothing  like  travel 
for  expanding  the  mind.  Last  year,  for  example, 
I  came  upon  some  new  waistcoating  in  the  square 
of  San  Marco  at  Venice.  It  was  yellow,  with 


WATIER'S.  167 

the  prettiest  little  twill  of  pink  running  through 
it.  How  could  I  have  seen  it  had  I  not  travelled  ! 
I  brought  it  back  with  me,  and  for  a  time  it  was 
all  the  rage." 

"  The  prince  took  it  up." 

"  Yes,  he  usually  follows  my  lead.  We  dressed 
so  alike  last  year  that  we  were  frequently  mis- 
taken for  each  other.  It  tells  against  me,  but  so 
it  was.  He  often  complains  that  things  do  not 
look  as  well  upon  him  as  upon  me,  but  how  can 
I  make  the  obvious  reply  ?  By  the  way,  George, 
I  did  not  see  you  at  the  Marchioness  of  Dover's 
ball." 

"  Yes,  I  was  there,  and  lingered  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  or  so.  I  am  surprised  that  you  did 
not  see  me.  I  did  not  go  past  the  doorway, 
however,  for  undue  preference  gives  rise  to 
jealousy." 

"  I  went  early,"  said  my  uncle,  "  for  I  had 
heard  that  there  were  to  be  some  tolerable  debu- 
tantes. It  always  pleases  me  vastly  when  I  am 
able  to  pass  a  compliment  to  any  of  them.  It  has 
happened,  but  not  often,  for  I  keep  to  my  own 
standard." 

So  they  talked,  these  singular  men,  and  I, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other,  could  not  imagine 
how  they  could  help  bursting  out  a-laughing  in 
each  other's  faces.  But,  on  the  contrary,  their 


12 


!68  RODNEY   STONE. 

conversation  was  very  grave  and  filled  out  with 
many  little  bows,  and  opening  and  shutting  of 
snuffboxes  and  flickings  of  laced  handkerchiefs. 

Quite  a  crowd  had  gathered  silently  round, 
and  I  could  see  that  the  talk  had  been  regarded 
as  a  contest  between  two  men  who  were  looked 
upon  as  rival  arbiters  of  fashion.  It  was  finished 
by  the  Duke  of  Queensberry  passing  his  arm 
through  Brummel's  and  leading  him  off,  while 
my  uncle  threw  out  his  laced  cambric  shirt  front 
and  shot  his  ruffles  as  if  he  were  well  satisfied 
with  his  share  in  the  encounter.  It  is  seven  and 
forty  years  since  I  looked  upon  that  circle  of 
dandies,  and  where  now  are  their  dainty  little 
hats,  their  wonderful  waistcoats,  and  their  boots 
in  which  one  could  arrange  one's  cravat  ?  They 
lived  strange  lives,  these  men,  and  died  strange 
deaths,  some  by  their  own  hands,  some  as  beg- 
gars, some  in  a  debtor's  jail,  some,  like  the  most 
brilliant  of  them  all,  in  a  madhouse  in  a  foreign 
land. 

"  There  is  the  card  room,  Rodney,"  said  my 
uncle,  as  we  passed  an  open  door  on  our  way  out. 
Glancing  in  I  saw  a  line  of  little  green  baize 
tables,  with  small  groups  of  men  sitting  round, 
while  at  one  side  was  a  longer  one  from  which 
there  came  a  continuous  murmur  of  voices.  "  You 
may  lose  what  you  like  in  there  save  only  your 


"  Lost  like  the  devil  ! "  he  snapped. 


WATIER'S.  169 

nerve  or  your  temper,"  my  uncle  continued. — 
Ah,  Sir  Lothian,  I  trust  that  luck  was  with 
you." 

A  tall,  thin  man,  with  a  hard,  austere  face  had 
stepped  out  of  the  open  doorway.  His  heavily 
thatched  eyebrows  covered  quick  little  gray 
eyes,  and  his  gaunt  features  were  hollowed  at  the 
cheek  and  temple  like  water-grooved  flint.  He 
was  dressed  entirely  in  black,  and  I  noticed  that 
his  shoulder  swayed  a  little  as  if  he  had  been 
drinking.  "  Lost  like  the  devil! "  he  snapped. 

"  Dice  ?  " 

"No;  whist." 

"  You  couldn't  get  very  hard  hit  over  that !  " 

"  Couldn't  you  ?  "  he  snarled.  "  Play  a  hun- 
dred a  trick  and  a  thousand  on  the  rub  and  lose 
steadily  for  five  hours,  and  see  what  you  think 
of  it." 

My  uncle  was  evidently  struck  by  the  haggard 
look  on  the  other's  face. 

"  I  hope  it's  not  very  bad,"  he  said. 

"  Bad  enough.  It  won't  bear  talking  about. 
By  the  way,  Tregellis,  have  you  got  your  man 
for  this  fight  yet?" 

"  No." 

"  You  seem  to  be  hanging  in  the  wind  a  long 
time.  It's  play  or  pay,  you  know.  I  shall  claim 
forfeit  if  you  don't  come  to  the  scratch." 


170 


RODNEY  STONE. 


"  If  you  will  name  your  day,  I  shall  produce 
my  man,  Sir  Lothian,"  said  my  uncle  coldly. 
"  This  day  four  weeks  if  you  like." 
"  Very  good.     Eighteenth  of  May." 
"  I  hope  to  have  changed  my  name  by  then." 
"  How  is  that  ?  "  asked  my  uncle,  in  surprise. 
"  It  is  just  possible  that  I  may  be  Lord  Avon." 
"What!   you   have   had  some   news?"  cried 
my  uncle ;  and  I  noticed  a  tremor  in  his  voice. 

"  I've  had  my  agent  over  at  Montevideo,  and 
he  believes  he  has  proof  that  Avon  died  there. 
Anyhow,  it  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  because  a 

murderer  chooses  to  fly  from  justice " 

"  I  won't  have  you  use  that  word,  Sir  Lothian," 
cried  my  uncle,  sharply. 

"  You  were  there,  as  I  was.  You  know  that 
he  was  a  murderer." 

"  I  tell  you  that  you  shall  not  say  so." 
Sir  Lothian's  fierce   little   gray  eyes  had   to 
lower   themselves    before    the    imperious   anger 
which  shone  in  my  uncle's. 

"  Well,  to  let  that  point  pass,  it  is  monstrous 
to  suppose  that  the  title  and  the  estates  can  re- 
main hung  up  in  this  way  forever.  I'm  the  heir, 
Tregellis,  and,  by  God,  I'm  going  to  have  my 
rights !  " 

"  I  am,  as  you  are  aware,  Lord  Avon's  dearest 
friend,"  said  my  uncle  sternly ;  "  his  disappear- 


WATIER'S.  !7! 

ance  has  not  affected  my  love  for  him,  and  until 
his  fate  is  finally  ascertained  I  shall  exert  myself 
to  see  that  his  rights  also  are  respected." 

"  His  rights  would  be  a  long  drop  and  a 
cracked  spine,"  Sir  Lothian  answered,  and  then, 
changing  his  manner  suddenly,  he  laid  his  hand 
upon  my  uncle's  sleeve. 

"  Come,  come,  Tregellis,  I  was  his  friend  as 
well  as  you,"  said  he ;  "  but  we  can  not  alter  the 
facts,  and  it  is  rather  late  in  the  day  for  us  to  fall 
out  over  them.  Your  invitation  holds  good  for 
Friday  night." 

"  Certainly." 

"  I  shall  bring  Crab  Wilson  with  me,  and  final- 
ly arrange  the  conditions  of  our  little  wager." 

"  Very  good,  Sir  Lothian  !  I  shall  hope  to  see 
you." 

They  bowed,  and  my  uncle  stood  for  a  little 
time  looking  after  him  as  he  made  his  way  amid 
the  crowd. 

"A  good  sportsman,  nephew,"  said  he.  "A 
bold  rider,  the  best  pistol-shot  in  England,  but 
a  dangerous  man  !  " 


CHAPTER.  X. 

THE  MEN  OF  THE   RING. 

IT  was  at  the  end  of  my  first  week  in  London 
that  my  uncle  gave  a  supper  to  the  fancy,  as  was 
usual  for  gentlemen  of  that  time  if  they  wished  to 
figure  before  the  public  as  Corinthians  and  pa- 
trons of  sport.  He  had  invited  not  only  the  chief 
fighting  men  of  the  day,  but  also  those  men  of 
fashion  who  were  most  interested  in  the  ring,  Mr. 
Fletcher  Reid,  Lord  Saye  and  Sele,  Sir  Lothian 
Hume,  Sir  John  Lade,  Colonel  Montgomery,  Sir 
Thomas  Apreece,  the  Honourable  Berkeley  Cra- 
ven, and  many  more.  The  rumour  that  the 
prince  was  to  be  present  had  already  spread 
through  the  clubs,  and  invitations  were  eagerly 
sought  after. 

The  Wagon  and  Horses  was  a  well-known 
sporting  house  with  an  old  prize-fighter  for  land- 
lord, and  the  arrangements  were  as  primitive  as 
the  most  Bohemian  could  wish.  It  was  one  of 

the  many  curious  fashions  which  have  now  died 

172 


THE    MEN    OF    THE    RING. 


173 


out,  that  men  who  were  blase"  from  luxury  and 
high  living  seemed  to  find  a  fresh  piquancy  in  life 
by  descending  to  the  lowest  resorts,,  so  that  the 
night  houses  and  gambling  hells  in  Covent  Garden 
or  the  Haymarket  often  gathered  illustrious  com- 
pany under  their  smoke-blackened  ceilings.  It 
was  a  change  for  them  to  turn  their  backs  upon 
the  cooking  of  Weltjie  and  of  Ude,  or  the  Cham- 
bertin  of  old  Q,  and  to  dine  upon  a  porterhouse 
steak  washed  down  by  a  pint  of  ale  from  a  pew- 
ter pot. 

A  rough  crowd  had  assembled  in  the  street  to 
see  the  fighting  men  go  in,  and  my  uncle  warned 
me  to  look  to  my  pockets  as  we  pushed  our  way 
through  it.  Within  was  a  large  room  with  faded 
red  curtains,  a  sanded  floor,  and  walls  which  were 
covered  with  prints  of  pugilists  and  racehorses. 
Brown  liquor-stained  tables  were  dotted  about  in 
it,  and  round  one  of  these  half  a  dozen  formidable- 
looking  men  were  seated,  while  one,  the  roughest 
of  all,  was  perched  upon  the  table  itself,  swinging 
His  legs  to  and  fro.  A  tray  of  small  glasses  and 
pewter  mugs  stood  beside  them. 

"  The  boys  were  thirsty,  sir,  so  I  brought  up 
some  ale  and  some  liptrap,"  whispered  the  land- 
lord. "  I  thought  you  would  have  no  objec- 
tion, sir." 

"  Quite  right,  Bob  ! — How  are  you  all  ? — How 


174  RODNEY  STONE. 

are  you,  Maddox  ? — How  are  you,  Baldwin  ? — Ah, 
Belcher,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 

The  fighting  men  all  rose  and  took  their  hats 
off,  except  the  fellow  on  the  table,  who  continued 
to  swing  his  legs  and  to  look  my  uncle  coolly  in 
the  face. 

"  How  are  you,  Berks  ?  " 

"  Pretty  tidy.     'Ow  are  you  ?  " 

"  Say  '  sir '  when  you  speak  to  a  gentleman," 
said  Belcher,  and  with  a  sudden  tilt  of  the  table 
he  sent  Berks  sliding  almost  into  my  uncle's  arms. 

"  See,  now,  Jim,  none  o'  that,"  said  Berks, 
sulkily. 

"  I'll  learn  you  manners,  Joe,  which  is  more 
than  ever  your  father  did.  You're  not  drinkin* 
Black  Jack  in  a  boozin'  ken,  but  you  are  meetin' 
noble,  slap-up  Corinthians,  and  it's  for  you  to  be- 
have as  such." 

"  I've  always  been  reckoned  a  gen'elmanlike 
sort  o'  man,"  said  Berks,  thickly,  "  but  if  so  be  as 
I've  said  or  done  what  I  'adn't  ought  to " 

"  There,  there,  Berks,  that's  all  right !  "  cried 
my  uncle,  only  too  anxious  to  smooth  things  over 
and  to  prevent  a  quarrel  at  the  outset  of  the 
evening.  "  Here  are  some  more  of  our  friends. — 
How  are  you,  Apreece  ? — How  are  you,  colonel  ? 
— Well,  Jackson,  you  are  looking  vastly  better. — 
Good  evening,  Lade.  1  trust  Lady  Lade  was 


THE   MEN    OF   THE   RING. 


175 


none  the  worse  for  our  pleasant  drive. — Ah,  Men- 
doza,  you  look  fit  enough  to  throw  your  hat  over 
the  ropes  this  instant. — Sir  Lothian,  I  am  glad 
to  see  you.  You  will  find  some  old  friends 
here." 

Amid  the  stream  of  Corinthians  and  fighting 
men  who  were  thronging  into  the  room  I  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  sturdy  figure  and  broad, 
good-humoured  face  of  Champion  Harrison.  The 
sight  of  him  was  like  a  whiff  of  South  Down  air 
coming  into  that  low-roofed,  oil-smelling  room, 
and  I  ran  forward  to  shake  him  by  the  hand. 

"  Why,  Master  Rodney — or  I  should  say  Mr. 
Stone,  I  suppose — you  have  changed  out  of  all 
knowledge.  I  can't  believe  that  it  was  really  you 
that  used  to  come  down  to  blow  the  bellows  when 
Boy  Jim  and  I  were  at  the  anvil.  Well,  you  are 
fine,  to  be  sure  ! " 

"What's  the  news  at  Friar's  Oak?"  I  asked 
eagerly. 

"  Your  father  was  down  to  chat  with  me, 
Master  Rodney,  and  he  tells  me  that  the  war  is 
going  to  break  out,  and  that  he  hopes  to  see  you 
here  in  London  before  many  days  are  past,  for  he 
is  coming  up  to  see  Lord  Nelson  and  to  make  in- 
quiry about  a  ship.  Your  mother  is  well,  and  I 
saw  her  in  church  on  Sunday." 

"  And  Boy  Jim  ?  " 


176  RODNEY  STONE. 

Champion  Harrison's  good-humoured  face 
clouded  over. 

"  He'd  set  his  heart  very  much  on  coming 
here  to-night,  but  there  were  reasons  why  I 
didn't  wish  him  to,  and  so  there's  a  shadow  be- 
twixt us.  It's  the  first  that  ever  was,  and  I  feel 
it,  Master  Rodney.  Between  ourselves,  I  have 
very  good  reason  to  wish  him  to  stay  with  me, 
and  I  am  sure  that,  with  his  high  spirit  and  his 
ideas,  he  would  never  settle  down  again  after 
once  he  had  a  taste  o'  London.  I  left  him  be- 
behind  me  with  enough  work  to  keep  him  busy 
until  I  get  back  to  him." 

A  tall  and  beautifully  proportioned  man,  very 
elegantly  dressed,  was  strolling  toward  us.  He 
stared  in  surprise  and  held  out  his  hand  to  my 
companion. 

"  Why,  Jack  Harrison  !  "  he  cried.  "  This  is 
a  resurrection.  Where  in  the  world  did  you 
come  from  ?" 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Jackson,"  said  my  com- 
panion. "  You  look  as  well  and  as  young  as 
ever." 

"  Thank  you,  yes.  I  resigned  the  belt  when 
I  could  get  no  one  to  fight  me  for  it,  and  I  took 
to  teaching." 

"  I'm  doing  smith's  work  down  Sussex  way." 

"  I've  often  wondered  you  never  had  a  shy  at 


THE    MEN   OF   THE   RING. 

my  belt.  I  tell  you  honestly,  between  man  and 
man,  I'm  very  glad  you  didn't." 

"  Well,  it's  real  good  of  you  to  say  that,  Jack- 
son. I  might  have  done  it,  perhaps,  but  the  old 
woman  was  against  it.  She's  been  a  good  wife 
to  me,  and  I  can't  go  against  her.  But  I  feel  a 
bit  lonesome  here,  for  these  boys  are  all  since 
my  time." 

"  You  could  do  some  of  them  over  now,"  said 
Jackson,  feeling  my  friend's  upper  arm.  "  No 
better  bit  of  stuff  was  ever  seen  in  a  twenty-four- 
foot  ring.  It  would  be  a  rare  treat  to  see  you 
take  some  of  these  young  ones  on.  Won't  you 
let  me  spring  you  on  them?" 

Harrison's  eyes  glistened  at  the  idea,  but  he 
shook  his  head. 

"  It  won't  do,  Jackson.  My  old  woman  holds 
my  promise.  That's  Belcher,  ain't  it — the  good- 
looking  chap  with  the  flash  coat?" 

"  Yes,  that's  Jem.  You've  not  seen  him ! 
He's  a  jewel." 

"  So  I've  heard.  Who's  the  youngster  beside 
him  ?  He  looks  a  tidy  chap." 

"  That's  a  new  man  from  the  west.  Crab 
Wilson's  his  name." 

Champion  Harrison  looked  at  him  curiously. 
"  I've  heard  of  him,"  said  he.  "  They  are  getting 
a  match  on  for  him,  ain't  they  ?  " 


RODNEY   STONE. 

"  Yes.  Sir  Lothian  Hume,  the  thin-faced 
gentleman  over  yonder,  has  backed  him  against 
Sir  Charles  Tregellis's  man.  We're  to  hear  about 
the  match  to-night.  I  understand  Jem  Belcher 
thinks  great  things  of  Crab  Wilson.  There's 
Belcher's  young  brother  Tom.  He's  looking  out 
for  a  match,  too.  They  say  he's  quicker  than 
Jem  with  the  mufflers,  but  he  can't  hit  as  hard. — 
I  was  speaking  of  your  brother,  Jem." 

"  The  young  'un  will  make  his  way,"  said 
Belcher,  who  had  come  across  to  us.  "  He's 
more  a  sparrer  than  a  fighter  just  at  present, 
but  when  his  gristle  sets  he'll  take  on  anything 
on  the  list.  Bristol's  as  full  o'  young  fightin' 
men  as  a  bin  is  o'  bottles.  We've  got  two  more 
comin'  up,  Gully  and  Pearce,  who'll  make  you 
London  milling  coves  wish  they  was  back  in  the 
west  country  again." 

"  Here's  the  prince,"  said  Jackson,  as  a  hum 
and  bustle  rose  from  the  door. 

I  saw  George  come  bustling  in  with  a  good- 
humoured  smile  upon  his  comely  face.  My  uncle 
welcomed  him,  and  led  some  of  the  Corinthians 
up  to  be  presented. 

"  We'll  have  trouble,  gov'nor,"  said  Belcher 
to  Jackson.  "  Here's  Joe  Berks  drinkin'  gin  out 
of  a  mug,  and  you  know  what  a  swine  he  is  when 
he's  drunk." 


THE   MEN   OF   THE    RING. 


179 


"  You  must  put  a  stopper  on  him,  gov'nor," 
said  several  of  the  other  prize-fighters.  "  He 
ain't  what  you  call  a  charmer  when  he's 
sober,  but  there's  no  standin'  him  when  he's 
fresh." 

Jackson,  on  account  of  his  prowess,  and  of  the 
tact  which  he  possessed,  had  been  chosen  as  gen- 
eral regulator  of  the  whole  prize-fighting  body, 
by  whom  he  was  usually  alluded  to  as  the  com- 
mander-in-chief.  He  and  Belcher  went  across 
now  to  the  table  upon  which  Berks  was  still 
perched.  The  ruffian's  face  was  already  flushed, 
and  his  eyes  heavy  and  bloodshot. 

"  You  must  keep  yourself  in  hand  to-night, 
Berks,"  said  Jackson.  "  The  prince  is  here, 
and " 

"  I  never  set  eyes  on  'im  yet,"  cried  Berks, 
lurching  off  the  table.  "Where  is  'e,  gov'nor? 
Tell  'im  Joe  Berks  would  like  to  do  hisself  proud 
by  shakin'  'im  by  the  'and." 

"  No,  you  don't,  Joe,"  said  Jackson,  laying  his 
hand  upon  Berks's  chest,  as  he  tried  to  push  his 
way  through  the  crowd.  "  You've  got  to  keep 
your  place,  Joe,  or  we'll  put  you  where  you  can 
make  all  the  noise  you  like." 

"  Where's  that,  gov'nor?" 

"  Into  the  street  through  the  window.  We're 
going  to  have  a  peaceful  evening,  as  Jem  Belcher 


!8o  RODNEY   STONE. 

and  I  will  show  you  if  you  get  up  to  any  of  your 
Whitechapel  games." 

"  No  'arm,  gov'nor,"  grumbled  Berks.  "  I'm 
sure  I've  always  'ad  the  name  of  being  a  very 
gen'elmanlike  man." 

"  So  I've  always  said,  Joe  Berks,  and  mind  you 
prove  yourself  such.  But  the  supper  is  ready  for 
us,,  and  there's  the  prince  and  Lord  Sele  going  in. 
— Two  and  two,  lads,  and  don't  forget  whose 
company  you  are  in." 

The  supper  was  laid  in  a  large  room  with 
Union  Jacks  and  mottoes  hung  thickly  upon  the 
walls.  The  tables  were  arranged  in  three  sides 
of  a  square,  my  uncle  occupying  the  centre  of  the 
principal  one,  with  the  prince  upon  his  right  and 
Lord  Sele  upon  his  left.  By  his  wise  precaution 
the  seats  had  been  allotted  beforehand,  so  that 
the  gentlemen  might  be  scattered  among  the  pro- 
fessionals and  no  risk  run  of  two  enemies  finding 
themselves  together,  or  a  man  who  had  been  re- 
cently beaten  falling  into  the  company  of  his  con- 
queror. For  my  own  part,  I  had  Champion  Har- 
rison upon  one  side  of  me  and  a  short,  florid-faced 
man  upon  the  other,  who  whispered  to  me  that 
he  was  "  Bill  Warr,  landlord  of  the  One  Tun 
public  house  of  Jermyn  Street,  and  one  of  the 
gamest  men  upon  the  list." 

"  It's  my  flesh  that's  beat   me,  sir,"  said  he. 


THE    MEN   OF   THE   RING.  l8l 

"  It  creeps  over  me  amazin'  fast.  I  should  fight 
at  thirteen-eight,  and  'ere  I  am  nearly  seventeen. 
It's  the  business  that  does  it.  What  with  lollin' 
about  behind  the  bar  all  day,  and  bein'  afraid  to 
refuse  a  wet  for  fear  of  offendin'  a  customer.  It's 
been  the  ruin  of  many  a  good  fighting  man  be- 
fore me." 

"  You  should  take  to  my  job,"  said  Harrison. 
"  I'm  a  smith  by  trade,  and  I've  not  put  on  half  a 
stone  in  fifteen  years." 

"  Some  take  to  one  thing  and  some  to  another, 
but  the  most  of  us  try  to  have  a  bar  parlor  of  our 
own.  There's  Will  Wood  that  I  beat  in  forty 
rounds  in  the  middle  of  a  snowstorm  down  Nave- 
stock  way.  He  drives  a  'ackney.  Young  Firby, 
the  ruffian,  he's  a  waiter  now.  Dick  Humphries 
sells  coals — he  was  always  of  a  gentlemanly  dis- 
position. George  Inglestone  is  a  brewer's  dray- 
man. We  all  find  our  own  cribs.  But  there's 
one  thing  you  are  saved  by  livin'  in  the  country, 
and  that  is  havin'  the  young  Corinthians  and 
bloods  about  town  smackin'  you  eternally  in  the 
face." 

This  was  the  last  inconvenience  which  I  should 
have  expected  a  famous  prize-fighter  to  be  sub- 
jected to,  but  several  bull-faced  fellows  at  the 
other  side  of  the  table  nodded  their  concur- 
rence. 


!g2  RODNEY   STONE. 

"  You're  right,  Bill,"  said  one  of  them. 
"  There's  no  one  has  had  more  trouble  with  them 
than  I  have.  In  they  come  of  an  evenin*  into  my 
bar,  with  the  wine  in  their  heads.  'Are  you  Tom 
Owen  the  Bruiser?'  says  one  o'  them.  'At  your 
service,  sir,'  says  I.  '  Take  that,  then,'  says  he, 
and  it's  a  clip  on  the  nose,  or  a  backhanded  slap 
across  the  chops  as  likely  as  not.  Then  they  can 
brag  all  their  lives  that  they  had  hit  Tom  Owen." 

"  D*  you  draw  their  cork  in  return  ?" 

"  I  argey  it  out  with  them.  I  say  to  them, 
'  Now,  gents,  fightin'  is  my  profession,  and  I  don't 
fight  for  love  any  more  than  a  doctor  doctors  for 
love  or  a  butcher  gives  away  a  loin  chop.  Put 
up  a  small  purse,  master,  and  I'll  do  you  over, 
and  proud.  But  don't  expect  that  you're  goin' 
to  come  here  and  get  knocked  about  by  a  middle- 
weight champion  for  nothing.' ' 

"  That's  my  way,  too,  Tom,"  said  my  burly 
neighbour.  "  If  they  put  down  a  guinea  on  the 
counter,  which  they  do  if  they  have  been  drink- 
in'  very  heavy,  I  give  them  what  I  think  is  about 
a  guinea's  worth  and  take  the  money." 

"But  if  they  don't?" 

"  Why,  then  it's  a  common  assault,  d'ye  see, 
against  the  body  of  his  Majesty's  liege,  William 
Warr,  and  I  has  'em  before  the  beak  next  morn- 
in',  and  it's  a  week  or  twenty  shillin's." 


THE    MEN   OF   THE   RING.  183 

Meanwhile  the  supper  was  in  full  swing — one 
of  those  solid  and  uncompromising  meals  which 
prevailed  in  the  days  of  your  grandfathers,  and 
which  may  explain  to  some  of  you  why  you 
never  set  eyes  upon  that  relative.  Great  rounds 
of  beef,  saddles  of  mutton,  smoking  tongues,  veal 
and  ham  pies,  turkeys  and  chickens  and  geese, 
with  every  variety  of  vegetables,  and  a  succes- 
sion of  fiery  sherries  and  heavy  ales,  were  the 
main  staple  of  the  feast. 

It  was  the  same  meal  and  the  same  cooking  as 
their  Norse  or  German  ancestors  might  have  sat 
down  to  fourteen  centuries  before,  and  indeed,  as 
I  looked  through  the  steam  of  the  dishes  at  the 
lines  of  fierce  and  rugged  faces,  and  the  mighty 
shoulders  which  rounded  themselves  over  the 
board,  I  could  have  imagined  myself  at  one  of 
those  old-world  carousals  of  which  I  had  read, 
where  the  savage  company  gnawed  the  joints  to 
the  bone,  and  then  with  murderous  horse-play 
hurled  the  remains  at  their  prisoners.  Here  and 
there  the  pale  aquiline  features  of  a  sporting  Co- 
rinthian recalled  rather  the  Norman  type,  but  in 
the  main  these  stolid,  heavy-jowled  faces,  belong, 
ing  to  men  whose  whole  life  was  a  battle,  were 
the  nearest  suggestion  which  we  have  had  in 
modern  times  of  those  fierce  pirates  and  rovers 

from  whose  loins  we  have  sprung. 
13 


RODNEY  STONE. 

And  yet  as  I  looked  carefully  from  man  to 
man  in  the  line  which  faced  me,  I  could  see 
that  the  English,  although  they  were  ten  to  one, 
had  not  the  game  entirely  to  themselves,  but  that 
other  races  had  shown  that  they  could  produce 
fighting  men  worthy  to  rank  with  the  best. 
There  were,  it  is  true,  no  finer  or  braver  men 
in  the  room  than  Jackson  and  Jem  Belcher,  the 
one  with  his  magnificent  figure,  his  small  waist 
and  herculean  shoulders,  the  other  as  graceful  as 
an  old  Grecian  statue,  with  a  head  whose  beauty 
many  a  sculptor  had  wished  to  copy,  and  with 
those  long,  delicate  lines  in  shoulder  and  loins 
and  limbs  which  gave  him  the  litheness  and 
activity  of  a  panther.  Already  as  I  looked  at 
him,  it  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  a  shadow 
of  tragedy  upon  his  face,  a  forecast  of  the  day 
then  but  a  few  months  distant,  when  a  blow  from 
a  racquet  ball  darkened  the  sight  of  one  eye 
forever.  Had  he  stopped  there  with  his  un- 
beaten career  behind  him,  then  indeed  the  even- 
ing of  his  life  might  have  been  as  glorious  as 
its  dawn.  But  his  proud  heart  could  not  per- 
mit his  title  to  be  torn  from  him  without  a 
struggle.  If  even  now  you  can  read  how  the 
gallant  fellow,  unable  with  his  one  eye  to  judge 
his  distances,  fought  for  thirty-five  minutes 
against  his  young  and  most  formidable  op- 


THE   MEN   OF   THE   RING.  1%$ 

ponent,  and  how  in  the  bitterness  of  defeat  he  was 
heard  only  to  express  his  sorrow  for  a  friend 
who  had  backed  him  with  all  he  possessed,  and 
if  you  are  not  touched  by  the  story,  there  must 
be  something-  wanting  in  you  which  should  go  to 
the  making  of  a  man. 

But  if  there  were  no  men  at  the  tables  who 
could  have  held  their  own  against  Jackson  or 
Jem  Belcher,  there  were  others  of  a  different 
race  and  type  who  had  qualities  which  made 
them  dangerous  bruisers.  A  little  way  down 
the  table  I  saw  the  black  face  and  woolly  head 
of  Bill  Richmond,  in  a  purple  and  gold  foot- 
man's livery — destined  to  be  the  predecessor  of 
Molyneux,  Sutton,  and  all  that  line  of  black 
boxers,  who  have  shown  that  the  muscular  power 
and  insensibility  to  pain  which  distinguish  the 
African  gave  him  a  peculiar  advantage  in  the 
sports  of  the  ring.  He  could  boast  also  of  the 
higher  honour  of  having  been  the  first  born 
American  to  win  laurels  in  the  British  ring. 
There  also  I  saw  the  keen  features  of  Dan 
Mendoza,  the  Jew,  just  returned  from  active 
work,  and  leaving  behind  him  a  reputation  for 
elegance  and  perfect  science  which  has  to  this 
day  never  been  exceeded. 

The  worst  fault  that  the  critics  could  find 
with  him  was  that  there  was  a  want  of  power 


RODNEY   STONE. 

in  his  blows — a  remark  which  certainly  could 
not  have  been  made  about  his  neighbour,  whose 
long  face,  curved  nose,  and  dark,  flashing  eyes 
proclaimed  him  as  a  member  ^ot  the  same  an- 
cient race.  This  was  the  formidable  Dutch 
Sam,  who  fought  at  nine  stone  six,  and  yet 
possessed  such  hitting  powers  that  his  admirers 
in  after  years  were  willing  to  back  him  against 
the  fourteen-stone  Tom  Cribb,  if  each  were 
strapped  a-straddle  to  a  bench.  Half  a  dozen 
other  sallow  Hebrew  faces  showed  how  ener- 
getically the  Jews  of  Houndsditch  and  White- 
chapel  had  taken  to  the  sport  of  the  land  of 
their  adoption,  and  that  in  this,  as  in  more 
serious  fields  of  human  effort,  they  could  hold 
their  own  with  the  best. 

It  was  my  neighbour  Warr  who  very  good- 
humouredly  pointed  out  to  me  all  these  celeb- 
rities, the  echoes  of  whose  fame  had  been 
wafted  down  even  to  our  little  Sussex  village. 

"  There's  Andrew  Gamble,  the  Irish  cham- 
pion," said  he.  "  It  was  'e  that  beat  Noah  James, 
the  guardsman,  and  was  afterward  nearly  killed 
by  Jem  Belcher  in  the  'ollow  of  Wimbledon  Com- 
mon by  Abbershaw's  gibbet.  The  two  that  sit 
next  him  are  Irish  also — Jack  O'Donnell  and  Bill 
Ryan.  When  you  get  a  good  Irishman  you  can't 
better  'em,  but  they're  dreadful  'asty.  That  little 


THE    MEN    OF    THE    RING. 


I87 


cove  with  the  leery  face  is  Caleb  Baldwin  the 
coster,  'im  that  they  call  the  pride  of  Westmin- 
ster. He  is  but  five  foot  seven,  and  nine  stone 
five;  but  he's  got  the  'eart  of  a  giant.  'E's  never 
been  beat,  and  there  ain't  a  man  within  a  stone  of 
'im  that  could  beat  'im,  except  only  Dutch  Sam. 
There's  George  Maddox,  too,  another  o'  the  same 
breed,  and  as  good  a  man  as  ever  pulled  his  coat 
off.  The  gentlemanlike  man  that  eats  with  a  fork, 
'im  what  looks  like  a  Corinthian,  only  that  the 
bridge  of  Ms  nose  ain't  quite  what  it  ought  to  be, 
that's  Dick  Humphries,  the  same  that  was  cock  of 
the  middle-weights  until  Mendoza  cut  his  comb 
for  him.  You  see  the  other  with  the  gray  'ead 
and  the  scars  on  his  face  ?  " 

"Why,  it's  old  Tom  Faulkner,  the  cricketer!" 
cried  Harrison,  following  the  line  of  Bill  Warr's 
stubby  forefinger.  "  He's  the  best  bowler  in  the 
Midlands,  and  at  his  best  there  weren't  many 
boxers  in  England  that  could  stand  up  against 
him." 

"  You're  right  there,"  Jack  Harrison.  "  He 
was  one  of  the  three  who  came  up  to  fight  when 
the  best  men  of  Birmingham  challenged  the  best 
men  of  London.  He's  an  evergreen,  is  Tom. 
Why,  he  was  turned  five  and  fifty  when  he  chal- 
lenged and  beat,  after  fifty  minutes  of  it,  Jack 
Thornhill,  who  was  tough  enough  to  take  it  out 


RODNEY   STONE. 

of  many  a  youngster.  It's  better  to  give  odds  in 
weight  than  in  years." 

"  Youth  will  be  served,"  said  a  crooning  voice 
from  the  other  side  of  the  table.  "  Ay,  masters, 
youth  will  be  served." 

The  man  who  had  spoken  was  the  most  ex- 
traordinary of  all  the  many  curious  figures  in  the 
room.  He  was  very  old,  so  old  that  he  was  past 
all  comparison,  and  no  one,  by  looking  at  his 
mummy  skin  and  fishlike  eyes,  could  give  a  guess 
at  his  years. 

A  few  scanty  gray  hairs  still  hung  about  his 
yellow  scalp.  As  to  his  features,  they  were 
scarcely  human  in  their  disfigurement,  for  the 
deep  wrinkles  and  pouchings  of  extreme  age  had 
been  added  to  a  face  which  had  always  been 
grotesquely  ugly,  and  had  been  crushed  and 
bruised,  in  addition,  by  many  a  blow.  I  had  no- 
ticed this  creature  at  the  beginning  of  the  meal, 
leaning  his  chest  against  the  edge  of  the  table,  as 
if  its  support  was  a  welcome  one,  and  feebly  pick- 
ing at  the  food  which  was  placed  before  him. 
Gradually,  however,  as  his  neighbours  plied  him 
with  drink,  his  shoulders  grew  squarer,  his  back 
stiffened,  his  eyes  brightened,  and  he  looked 
about  him  with  an  air  of  surprise  at  first,  as  if  he 
had  no  clear  recollection  of  how  he  came  there, 
and  afterward  with  an  expression  of  deepening 


THE   MEN   OF   THE    RING.  189 

interest  as  he  listened  with  his  ear  scooped  up  in 
his  hand  to  the  conversation  around  him. 

"  That's  old  Buckhorse,"  whispered  Champion 
Harrison.  "  He  was  just  the  same  as  that  when 
I  joined  the  ring  three  and  twenty  years  ago. 
Time  was  when  he  was  the  terror  of  London." 

"  He  was  so,"  said  Bill  Warn  "  'E  would 
fight  like  a  stag,  and  'e  was  that  'ard  that  'e 
would  let  any  swell  knock  him  down  for  'alf  a 
crown.  'E  'ad  no  face  to  spoil,  d'ye  see,  for  he 
was  always  the  ugliest  man  in  England.  But  'e's 
been  on  the  shelf  now  for  near  sixty  years,  and  it 
cost  him  many  a  beatin'  before  he  could  under- 
stand that  his  strength  was  slippin'  away  from 
him." 

"  Youth  will  be  served,  masters,"  droned  the 
old  man,  shaking  his  head  miserably. 

"  Fill  up  'is  glass,"  said  Warr.  "  Here,  Tom, 
give  old  Buckhorse  a  sup  o'  liptrap.  Warm  his 
old  'eart  for  'im." 

The  old  man  poured  a  glass  of  neat  gin  down 
his  shrivelled  throat,  and  the  effect  upon  him  was 
extraordinary.  A  light  glimmered  in  each  of  his 
dull  eyes,  a  tinge  of  colour  came  into  his  waxlike 
cheeks,  and,  opening  his  toothless  mouth,  he  sud- 
denly emitted  a  peculiar  bell-like  and  most  musi- 
cal cry.  A  hoarse  roar  of  laughter  from  all  the 
company  answered  it,  and  flushed  faces  craned 


RODNEY  STONE. 

over  each  other  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  vet- 
eran. 

"  There's  Buckhorse  !  "  they  cried.  "  Buck- 
horse  is  comin'  round  again." 

"  You  can  laugh  if  you  will,  masters,"  he  cried, 
in  his  Lewkner  Lane  dialect,  holding  up  his  two 
thin,  vein-covered  hands.  "  It  won't  be  long  that 
you'll  be  able  to  see  my  crooks  vich  'ave  been 
on  Fig's  conk  and  on  Jack  Broughton's,  and  on 
Harry  Gray's  and  on  many  another  good  fightin' 
man  that  was  millin*  for  a  livin'  before  your  fa- 
thers could  eat  pap." 

The  company  laughed  again,  and  encouraged 
the  old  man  by  half-derisive,  half-affectionate 
cries. 

"  Let  'em  'ave  it,  Buckhorse !  Give  it  'em 
straight !  Tell  us  how  the  millin'  coves  did  it  in 
your  time." 

The  old  gladiator  looked  round  him  in  great 
contempt. 

"  Vy,  from  what  I  see,"  he  cried,  in  his  high 
broken  treble,  "  there's  some  of  you  that  ain't  fit  to 
flick  a  fly  from  a  joint  o'  meat.  You'd  make  wery 
good  ladies'  maids,  the  most  o'  you,  but  you 
took  the  wrong  turnin'  ven  you  came  into  the 
ring." 

"  Give  'im  a  wipe  over  the  mouth ! "  said  a 
hoarse  voice. 


THE   MEN   OF   THE   RING.  jgi 

"  Joe  Berks,"  said  Jackson,  "  I'd  save  the  hang- 
man the  job  of  breaking  your  neck  if  his  Royal 
Highness  wasn't  in  the  room." 

"  That's  as  it  may  be,  gov'nor,"  said  the  half- 
drunken  ruffian,  staggering  to  his  feet.  "  If  I've 
said  anything  what  isn't  gen'elmanlike " 

"  Sit  down,  Berks  !  "  cried  my  uncle,  with  such 
a  tone  of  command  that  the  fellow  collapsed  into 
his  chair. 

"  Vy,  vich  of  you  could  look  Jack  Slack  in  the 
face  ?  "  piped  the  old  fellow,  "  or  Jack  Broughton, 
him  vot  told  the  old  Dook  o'  Cumberland  that  all 
he  vanted  was  to  fight  the  King  o'  Proosia's  guard, 
day  by  day,  year  in  and  year  out,  until  'e  'ad 
worked  out  the  whole  regiment  of  'em,  and  the 
smallest  of  'em  six  foot  long?  There's  not 
more'n  a  few  of  you  could  'it  a  dint  in  a  pat  o' 
butter,  and  if  you  gets  a  smack  or  two  it's  all  over 
with  you.  Vich  among  you  could  get  up  again 
after  such  a  vipe  as  the  Eytalian  Gondoleery  cove 
gave  to  Bob  Vittaker  ?  " 

"  What  was  that,  Buckhorse  ? "  cried  several 
voices. 

"  'E  came  over  'ere  from  voreign  parts,  and  'e 
was  so  broad  'e  'ad  to  come  edgewise  through 
the  doors.  'E  'ad  to,  upon  my  davy  !  'E  was  that 
strong  that  whenever  'e  'it  the  bone  'ad  got  to  go, 
and  when  'e'd  cracked  a  jaw  or  two  it  looked  as 


1 92 


RODNEY  STONE. 


though  nothing  in  the  country  could  stan*  against 
'im.  So  the  king  'e  sent  one  of  his  genelmen 
down  to  Fig,  and  he  said  to  him,  '  'Ere's  a  cove 
vot  cracks  a  bone  every  time  he  lets  vly,  and  it'll 
be  little  credit  to  the  Lunnon  boys  if  they  lets  'im 
get  away  without  a  vacking.'  So  Fig  he  ups  and 
he  says,  '  I  do  not  know,  master,  but  he  may  break 
one  of  his  countrymen's  jawbones  vid  his  vist, 
but  I'll  bring  him  a  Cockney  lad  and  he  shall  not 
be  able  to  break  his  jawbone  with  a  sledge  ham- 
mer.' I  was  with  Fig  in  Slaughter's  coffee  house, 
as  then  was,  ven  he  says  this  to  the  king's  genel- 
man,  and  I  goes  so,  I  does ! "  Again  he  emitted 
the  curious  bell-like  cry,  and  again  the  Corin- 
thians and  the  fighting  men  laughed  and  ap- 
plauded him. 

"  His  Royal  Highness — that  is,  the  Earl  of 
Chester — would  be  glad  to  hear  the  end  of  your 
story,  Buckhorse,"  said  my  uncle,  to  whom  the 
prince  had  been  whispering. 

"  Veil,  your  ryal  'ighness,  it  was  like  this : 
Ven  the  day  came  round  all  the  volk  came  to 
Fig's  amphitheatre,  the  same  that  was  in  Totten- 
ham Court,  an"  Bob  Vittaker  'e  was  there,  and 
the  Eytalian  Gondoleery  cove  'e  was  there,  and 
all  the  perlitest,  gentellest  crowd  that  ever  vos, 
twenty  thousand  of  'em,  all  sittin'  with  their  'eads 
like  purtaties  on  a  barrer,  banked  right  up  round 


THE   MEN   OF   THE   RING. 

the  stage,  and  me  there  to  pick  up  Bob,  d'ye 
see,  and  Jack  Fig  'imself  just  for  fair  play,  to  do 
vat  was  right  by  the  cove  from  voreign  parts. 
They  vos  packed  all  round,  the  folks  was,  but  down 
through  the  middle  of  'em  was  a  passage,  just  so 
as  the  gentry  could  come  through  to  their  seats, 
and  the  stage  it  was  of  wood,  as  the  custom  then 
was,  and  a  man's  'ight  above  the  'eads  of  the 
people. 

"  Veil,  then,  ven  Bob  was  put  up  opposite  this 
great  Eytalian  man  I  says,  '  Slap  'im  in  the  vind, 
Bob,'  'cos  I  could  see  vid  'alf  an  eye  that  he  was  as 
puffy  as  a  cheesecake,  so  Bob  he  goes  in,  and  as 
he  comes  the  voriner  let  'im  'ave  it  amazin'  on 
the  conk.  I  'card  the  thump  of  it,  and  I  kind  o' 
velt  somethin'  vistle  past  me,  but  ven  I  looked 
there  was  the  Eytalian  a  feelin'  of  his  muscles  in 
the  middle  o'  the  stage,  and  as  to  Bob  there 
weren't  no  sign  of  'im  at  all,  no  more'n  if  he'd 
never  been." 

His  audience  were  riveted  by  the  old  prize- 
fighter's story.  "  Well,"  cried  a  dozen  voices, 
"  what  then,  Buckhorse  ;  'ad  'e  swallowed  'im,  or 
what?" 

"  Veil,  boys,  that  was  vot  I  wondered,  when 
sudden  I  seed  two  legs  a-stickin'  up  out  o'  the 
crowd  a  long  vay  off,  just  like  these  two  vingers, 
d'ye  see,  and  I  knowed  they  was  Bob's  legs, 


194 


RODNEY   STONE. 


seein'  that  'e  'ad  kind  o'  yellow  small-clothes  vid 
blue  ribbons — vich  blue  was  his  color — at  the  knee. 
So  they  upended  'im,  they  did,  an'  they  made 
a  lane  for  'im  and  cheered  'im  to  give  'im  'eart, 
though  he  never  lacked  for  that.  At  first  'e  was 
that  dazed  that  'e  didn't  know  if  'e  was  in  church 
or  in  'Orsmonger  jail,  but  ven  I'd  bit  'is  two 
ears  he  shook  'isself  together.  '  Ve'll  try  it  again, 
Buck,'  says  'e.  '  The  mark,'  says  I.  And  'e 
vinked  all  that  was  left  o'  one  eye.  So  the  Ey- 
talian  he  lets  swing  again,  but  Bob  'e  jumps  in- 
side and  'e  lets  'im  'ave  it  plumb  square  on  the 
meat  safe,  as  'ard  as  ever  the  Lord  would  let  'im 
put  it  in." 

"Well?  well?" 

"  Veil,  the  Eytalian  got  a  touch  o'  the  gurgles 
an'  'e  shut  himself  right  up  like  a  two-foot  rule. 
Then  'e  pulled  'imself  straight  an'  'e  gave  the 
most  awful  glory  allelujah  screech  as  ever  you 
'card.  Off  he  jumps  from  the  stage  and  down  the 
passage  as  'ard  as  'is  'oofs  would  carry  'im.  Up 
jumps  the  'ole  crowd,  and  after  'im  as  'ard  as  they 
could  move  for  laughin'.  They  was  lyin'  in  the 
kennel  three  deep  all  down  Tottenham  Court 
road,  wid  their  'ands  to  their  sides  just  vit  to 
break  themselves  in  two.  Veil,  we  chased  'im 
down  'Olburn  an'  down  Fleet  Street  an'  down 
Cheapside,  an'  past  the  'Change  and  on  all  the 


THE   MEN   OF   THE   RING. 


195 


way  to  Wapping,  an'  we  only  catched  'im  in  the 
shippin'  office,  'vere  'e  was  askin'  'ow  soon  'e 
could  get  a  passage  to  voreign  parts." 

There  was  much  laughter  and  clapping  of 
glasses  on  the  table  at  the  conclusion  of  old 
Buckhorse's  story,  and  I  saw  the  Prince  of  Wales 
hand  something  to  the  waiter,  who  brought  it 
round  and  slipped  it  into  the  skinny  hand  of  the 
veteran,  who  spat  upon  it  before  thrusting  it  into 
his  pocket.  The  table  had,  in  the  meantime,  been 
cleared,  and  was  now  studded  with  bottles  and 
glasses,  while  long  clay  pipes  and  tobacco  boxes 
were  handed  round.  My  uncle  never  smoked, 
thinking  the  habit  might  darken  his  teeth,  but 
many  of  the  Corinthians,  and  the  prince  among 
the  first  of  them,  set  the  example  of  lighting  up. 
All  restraint  had  now  been  done  away  with,  and 
the  prize-fighters,  flushed  with  wine,  roared  across 
the  tables  to  each  other,  or  shouted  their  greet- 
ings to  friends  at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  The 
amateurs,  falling  into  the  humour  of  their  com- 
pany, were  hardly  less  noisy,  and  loudly  debated 
the  merits  of  the  different  men,  criticising  their 
styles  of  fighting  before  their  faces,  and  making 
bets  upon  the  results  of  future  matches. 

In  the  midst  of  the  uproar  there  was  an  im- 
perative rap  upon  the  table,  and  my  uncle  rose  to 
speak.  As  he  stood  with  his  pale,  calm  face  and 


I96  RODNEY  STONE. 

fine  figure,  I  had  never  seen  him  to  greater  ad- 
vantage, for  he  seemed,  with  all  his  elegance, 
to  have  a  quiet  air  of  domination  among  these 
fierce  fellows,  like  a  huntsman  walking  carelessly 
through  a  springing  and  yapping  pack.  He  ex- 
pressed his  pleasure  at  seeing  so  many  good 
sportsmen  under  one  roof,  and  acknowledged  the 
honour  which  had  been  done,  both  to  his  guests 
and  himself,  by  the  presence  there  that  night  of 
the  illustrious  personage  whom  he  should  refer  to 
as  the  Earl  of  Chester.  He  was  sorry  that  the 
season  prevented  him  from  placing  game  upon 
the  table,  but  there  was  so  much  sitting  round  it 
that  it  would  perhaps  be  hardly  missed  (cheers 
and  laughter).  The  sports  of  the  ring  had  in  his 
opinion  tended  to  that  contempt  of  pain  and  of 
danger  which  had  contributed  so  much  in  the 
past  to  the  safety  of  the  country,  and  which 
might,  if  what  he  heard  was  true,  be  very  quickly 
needed  once  more.  If  an  enemy  landed  upon  our 
shores  it  was  then  that,  with  our  small  army,  we 
should  be  compelled  to  fall  back  upon  native 
valour,  trained  into  hardihood  by  the  practice  and 
contemplation  of  manly  sports.  In  times  of  peace 
also  the  rules  of  the  ring  had  been  of  service  in 
enforcing  the  principles  of  fair  play,  and  in  turn- 
ing public  opinion  against  that  use  of  the  knife 
or  of  the  boot  which  was  so  common  in  foreign 


THE  MEN  OF  THE  RING.  197 

countries.  He  begged,  therefore,  to  drink  suc- 
cess to  the  fancy,  coupled  with  the  name  of  John 
Jackson,  who  might  stand  as  a  type  of  all  that 
was  most  admirable  in  British  boxing. 

Jackson  having  replied  with  a  readiness  which 
many  a  public  man  might  have  envied,  my  uncle 
rose  once  more. 

**  We  are  here  to-night,"  said  he,  "  not  only  to 
celebrate  the  glories  of  the  prize  ring,  but  also  to 
arrange  some  sport  for  the  future.  It  should  be 
easy,  now  that  backers  and  fighting  men  are  gath- 
ered together  under  one  roof,  to  come  to  terms 
with  each  other.  I  have  myself  set  an  example 
by  making  a  match  with  Sir  Lothian  Hume,  the 
terms  of  which  will  be  communicated  to  you  by 
that  gentleman." 

Sir  Lothian  rose  with  a  paper  in  his  hand. 

"  The  terms,  your  Royal  Highness  and  gentle- 
men, are  briefly  these,"  said  he.  u  My  man,  Crab 
Wilson,  of  Gloucester,  having  never  yet  fought  a 
prize  battle,  is  prepared  to  meet,  upon  May  i8th 
of  this  year,  any  man  of  any  weight  who  may  be 
selected  by  Sir  Charles  TregeUis.  Sir  Charles 
Tregellis's  selection  is  limited  to  men  below 
twenty  or  above  thirty -five  years  of  age,  so 
as  to  exclude  Belcher  and  the  other  candi- 
dates for  championship  honours.  The  stakes 
are  two  thousand  against  a  thousand,  two  hun- 


j^g  RODNEY   STONE. 

dred  to  be  paid  by  the  winner  to  his  man,  play 
or  pay." 

It  was  curious  to  see  the  intense  gravity  of 
them  all,  fighters  and  backers,  as  they  bent  their 
brows  and  weighed  the  conditions  of  the 
match. 

"  I  am  informed,"  said  Sir  John  Lade,  "  that 
Crab  Wilson's  age  is  twenty-three,  and  that,  al- 
though he  has  never  fought  a  regular  P.  R.  battle, 
he  has  none  the  less  fought  within  ropes  for  a 
stake  on  many  occasions." 

"  I've  seen  him  halt  a  dozen  times  at  the  least," 
said  Belcher. 

"  It  is  precisely  for  that  reason,  Sir  John,  that 
I  am  laying  odds  of  ten  to  one  in  his  favour." 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  the  prince,  "  what  the  exact 
height  and  weight  of  Wilson  may  be  ?  " 

"  Five  foot  eleven  and  thirteen  ten,  your  Royal 
Highness." 

"  Long  enough  and  heavy  enough  for  anything 
on  two  legs,"  said  Jackson,  and  the  professionals 
all  murmured  their  assent. 

"  Read  the  rules  of  the  fight,  Sir  Lothian." 

"  The  battle  to  take  place  on  Tuesday,  May 
l8th,  at  the  hour  of  ten  in  the  morning,  at  a  spot 
to  be  afterward  named.  The  ring  to  be  twenty 
feet  square.  Neither  to  fall  without  a  knock- 
down blow,  subject  to  the  decision  of  the  um- 


THE  MEN   OF  THE   RING.  !99 

pires.  Three  umpires  to  be  chosen  upon  the 
ground — namely,  two  in  ordinary  and  one  in  ref- 
erence. Does  that  meet  with  your  wishes,  Sir 
Charles?" 

My  uncle  bowed. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say,  Wilson?" 

The  young  pugilist,  who  had  a  curious,  lanky 
figure  and  a  craggy,  bony  face,  passed  his  fingers 
through  his  close-cropped  hair. 

"  If  you  please,  zir,"  said  he,  with  a  slight 
west  country  burr,  "  a  twenty-foot  ring  is  too 
small  for  a  thirteen-stone  man." 

There  was  another  murmur  of  professional 
agreement. 

"  What  would  you  have  it  then,  Wilson  ?  " 

"  Vour  and  twenty,  Sir  Lothian." 

"  Have  you  any  objections,  Sir  Charles  ?  " 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

"  Anything  else,  Wilson  ?  " 

"  If  you  please,  zir,  I'd  like  to  know  whom  I'm 
fighting  with." 

"  I  understand  that  you  have  not  nominated 
your  man,  Sir  Charles?" 

"  I  do  not  intend  to  do  so  until  the  very  morn- 
ing of  the  fight.  I  believe  I  have  that  right  with- 
in the  terms  of  our  wager." 

"  Certainly,  if  you  choose  to  exercise  it." 

"  I  do  so  intend.  And  I  should  be  vastly 
14 


200  RODNEY   STONE. 

pleased  if  Mr.  Berkeley  Craven  will  consent  to  be 
stakeholder." 

That  gentleman  having  given  his  consent,  the 
final  formalities  which  led  up  to  these  humble 
tournaments  were  concluded. 

And  then  as  these  full-blooded,  powerful  men 
became  heated  with  their  wine,  angry  eyes  began 
to  gleam  across  the  table,  and  amid  the  gray  swirls 
of  tobacco  the  lamplight  gleamed  upon  the  fierce, 
hawklike  Jews  and  the  flushed,  savage  Saxons. 
The  old  quarrel  as  to  whether  Jackson  had  or 
had  not  committed  a  foul  by  seizing  Mendoza  by 
the  hair  on  the  occasion  of  their  battle  at  Horn- 
church  eight  years  before,  came  to  the  front  once 
more.  Dutch  Sam  hurled  a  shilling  down  upon 
the  table  and  offered  to  fight  the  Pride  of  West- 
minster for  it  if  he  ventured  to  say  that  Mendoza 
had  been  fairly  beaten.  Joe  Berks,  who  had 
grown  noisier  and  more  quarrelsome  as  the  even- 
ing went  on,  tried  to  clamber  across  the  table 
with  horrible  blasphemies  to  come  to  blows  with 
an  old  Jew  named  Fighting  Jussef,  who  had 
plunged  into  the  discussion.  It  needed  very  little 
more  to  finish  the  supper  by  a  general  and  fero- 
cious battle,  and  it  was  only  the  exertions  of  Jack- 
son, Belcher,  Harrison,  and  others  of  the  cooler 
and  steadier  men  which  saved  us  from  a  riot. 

And  then,  when  at  last  this  question  was  set 


THE   MEN   OF   THE   RING.  2OI 

aside,  that  of  the  rival  claims  to  championship  at 
different  weights  came  on  in  its  stead,  and  again 
angry  words  flew  about  and  challenges  were  in 
the  air.  There  was  no  exact  limit  between  the 
light,  middle,  arid  heavy-weights,  and  yet  it 
would  make  a  very  great  difference  to  the  stand- 
ing of  a  boxer  whether  he  should  be  regarded  as 
the  heaviest  of  the  light-weights  or  the  lightest  of 
the  heavy-weights.  One  claimed  to  be  ten-stone 
champion,  another  was  ready  to  take  on  anything 
at  eleven,  but  would  not  run  to  twelve,  which 
would  have  brought  the  invincible  Jem  Belcher 
down  upon  him.  Faulkner  claimed  to  be  cham- 
pion of  the  seniors,  and  even  old  Buckhorse's 
curious  call  rang  out  above  the  tumult  as  he 
turned  the  whole  company  to  laughter  and  good 
humour  again  by  challenging  anything  over 
eighty  and  under  seven  stone. 

But  in  spite  of  gleams  of  sunshine  there  was 
thunder  in  the  air,  and  Champion  Harrison  had 
just  whispered  in  my  ear  that  he  was  quite  sure 
we  should  never  get  through  the  night  without 
trouble,  and  was  advising  me,  if  it  got  very  bad, 
to  take  refuge  under  the  table,  when  the  landlord 
entered  the  room  hurriedly  and  handed  a  note  to 
my  uncle.  He  read  it  and  then  passed  it  to  the 
prince,  who  returned  it  with  raised  eyebrows  and 
a  gesture  of  surprise.  Then  he  rose  with  the 


202  RODNEY   STONE. 

scrap  of  paper  in  his  hand  and  a  smile  upon  his 
lips. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  there  is  a  stranger 
waiting  below  who  desires  a  fight  to  a  finish 
with  the  best  man  in  the  room." 


CHAPTER   XI. 

THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  COACH   HOUSE. 

THE  curt  announcement  was  followed  by  a 
moment  of  silent  surprise,  and  then  by  a  general 
shout  of  laughter.  There  might  be  argument  as 
to  who  was  the  champion  at  each  weight,  but 
there  could  be  no  question  that  all  the  cham- 
pions of  all  the  weights  were  seated  round  the 
tables.  An  audacious  challenge,  which  em- 
braced them  one  and  all,  without  regard  to 
size  or  age,  could  hardly  be  regarded  other- 
wise than  as  a  joke,  but  it  was  a  joke  that 
might  be  a  dear  one  for  the  joker. 

"  Is  this  genuine  ?  "  asked  my  uncle. 

"  Yes,  Sir  Charles,"  answered  the  landlord. 
"  The  man  is  waiting  below." 

"  It's  a  kid  !  "  cried  several  of  the  fighting 
men.  "  Some  cove  is  a-gammonin'  us." 

"  Don't  you  believe  it !  "  answered  the  land- 
lord. "  He's  a  real  slap-up  Corinthian  by  his 
dress,  and  he  means  what  he  says,  or  else  I 

ain't  no  judge  of  a  man." 

203 


204  RODNEY  STONE. 

My  uncle  whispered  for  a  few  moments  with 
the  Prince  of  Wales.  "  Well,  gentlemen,"  said 
he  at  last,  "  the  night  is  still  young,  and  if  any 
of  you  should  wish  to  show  the  company  a  little 
of  your  skill  you  could  not  wish  a  better  oppor- 
tunity." 

"  What  weight  is  he,  Bill  ?  "  asked  Jem  Bel- 
cher. 

"  He's  close  onto  six  foot  and  I  should  put  him 
well  up  into  the  thirteen  stone  when  he's  buffed." 

"  Heavy  metal !  "  cried  Jackson.  "  Who  takes 
him  on  ?  " 

They  all  wanted  to,  from  the  nine-stone 
Dutch  Sam  upward.  The  air  was  filled  with 
their  hoarse  shouts,  and  their  arguments  why 
each  should  be'  the  chosen  one.  To  fight  when 
they  were  flushed  with  wine  and  ripe  for  mis- 
chief— above  all,  to  fight  before  so  select  a  com- 
pany, with  the  prince  himself  by  the  ring  side — 
was  a  chance  which  did  not  often  come  in  their 
way.  Only  Jackson,  Belcher,  Mendoza,  and  one 
or  two  others  of  the  senior  and  more  famous 
men  remained  silent,  thinking  it  beneath  their 
dignity  that  they  should  condescend  to  so  irreg- 
ular a  bye-battle. 

"  Well,  you  can't  all  fight  him,"  remarked 
Jackson,  when  the  babel  had  died  away.  "  It's 
for  the  chairman  to  choose." 


THE  FIGHT   IN   THE  COACH    HOUSE.         205 

"  Perhaps  your  Royal  Highness  has  a  prefer- 
ence," said  my  uncle. 

"  By  Jove,  I'd  take  him  on  myself  if  my  posi- 
tion was  different  from  what  it  is,"  said  the  prince, 
whose  face  was  growing  redder  and  his  eyes 
more  glazed.  "  You've  seen  me  with  the  muf- 
flers, Jackson  !  You  know  my  form  ?  " 

"  I've  seen  your  Royal  Highness,  and  I've  felt 
your  Royal  Highness,"  said  the  courtly  Jackson. 

"  Perhaps  Jem  Belcher  would  give  us  an  ex- 
hibition," said  my  uncle. 

Belcher  smiled,  and  shook  his  handsome 
head. 

"  There's  my  brother  Tom  here,  who  has 
never  been  blooded  in  London,  sir.  He  might 
make  a  fairer  match  of  it." 

"  Give  'im  over  to  me ! "  roared  Joe  Berks. 
"  I've  been  waitin'  for  a  turn  all  evening,  an'  I'll 
fight  any  man  that  tries  to  take  my  place.  'E's 
my  meat,  my  masters.  Leave  'im  to  me  if  you 
want  to  see  how  a  calf's  head  should  be  dressed. 
If  you  put  Tom  Belcher  before  me  I'll  fight 
Tom  Belcher,  and  for  that  matter  I'll  fight  Jem 
Belcher,  or  Bill  Belcher,  or  any  other  Belcher 
that  ever  came  out  of  Bristol." 

It  was  clear  that  Berks  had  got  to  the  stage 
when  he  must  fight  some  one.  His  heavy  face 
was  gorged  and  the  veins  stood  out  on  his  low 


206  RODNEY  STONE. 

forehead,  while  his  fierce  gray  eyes  looked  vi- 
ciously from  man  to  man  in  quest  of  a  quarrel. 
His  great  red  hands  were  bunched  into  huge 
gnarled  fists,  and  he  shook  one  of  them  mena- 
cingly as  his  drunken  gaze  swept  round  the 
tables. 

"  I  think  you'll  agree  with  me,  gentlemen, 
that  Joe  Berks  would  be  all  the  better  for 
some  fresh  air  and  exercise,"  said  my  uncle. 
"  With  the  concurrence  of  his  Royal  Highness 
and  of  the  company  I  shall  select  him  as  our 
champion  on  this  occasion." 

"  You  do  me  proud,"  cried  the  fellow,  stagger- 
ing to  his  feet  and  pulling  at  his  coat.  "  If  I  don't 
glut  him  within  the  five  minutes  may  I  never  see 
Shropshire  again ! " 

"  Wait  a  bit,  Berks,"  cried  several  of  the  ama- 
teurs. "  Where's  it  going  to  be  held  ?  " 

"  Where  you  like,  masters.  I'll  fight  him  in  a 
sawpit  or  on  the  outside  of  a  coach,  if  it  please  you. 
Put  us  toe  to  toe,  and  leave  the  rest  with  me." 

"They  can't  fight  here  with  all  this  litter," 
said  my  uncle.  "  Where  shall  it  be  ?" 

"  Ton  my  soul,  Tregellis,"  cried  the  prince, 
"  I  think  our  unknown  friend  might  have  a  word 
to  say  upon  that  matter.  He'll  be  vastly  ill  used 
if  you  don't  let  him  have  his  own  choice  of  con- 
ditions." 


THE   FIGHT   IN   THE  COACH   HOUSE. 


207 


"  You  are  right,  sir.     We  must  have  him  up." 

"  That's  easy  enough,"  said  the  landlord,  "  for 
here  he  comes  through  the  doorway." 

I  glanced  round,  and  had  a  side  view  of  a  tali 
and  well-dressed  young  man,  in  a  long  brown 
travelling  coat  and  a  black  felt  hat.  The  next  in- 
stant he  had  turned,  and  I  had  clutched  with 
both  my  hands  onto  Champion  Harrison's  arm. 

"  Harrison  !  "  I  gasped,  "  it's  Boy  Jim  !  " 

And  yet  somehow  the  possibility  and  even 
the  probability  of  it  had  occurred  to  me  from  the 
beginning,  and  I  believe  that  it  had  to  Champion 
Harrison  also,  for  I  had  noticed  that  his  face 
grew  grave  and  troubled  from  the  very  moment 
that  there  was  talk  of  the  stranger  below.  Now, 
the  instant  that  the  buzz  of  surprise  and  admira- 
tion which  was  caused  by  Jim's  face  and  figure 
had  died  away,  Harrison  was  on  his  feet,  gesticu- 
lating in  his  excitement. 

"  It's  my  nephew,  Jim,  gentlemen,"  he  cried. 
"  He's  not  twenty  yet,  and  it's  no  doing  of  mine 
that  he  should  be  here." 

"  Let  him  alone,  Harrison,"  cried  Jackson. 
"  He's  big  enough  to  take  care  of  himself." 

"This  matter  has  gone  rather  far,"  said  my 
uncle.  "  I  think,  Harrison,  that  you  are  too  good  a 
sportsman  to  prevent  your  nephew  from  showing 
whether  he  takes  after  his  uncle." 


208  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  It's  very  different  from  me,"  cried  Harrison, 
in  great  distress.  "  But  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do, 
gentlemen.  I  never  thought  to  stand  up  in  a 
ring  again,  but  I'll  take  on  Joe  Berks  with 
pleasure,  just  to  give  a  bit  of  sport  to  this 
company." 

Boy  Jim  stepped  across  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  prize-fighter's  shoulder. 

"  It  must  be  so,  uncle,"  I  heard  him  whisper. 
"  I  am  sorry  to  go  against  your  wishes,  but  I 
have  made  up  my  mind,  and  I  must  carry  it 
through." 

Harrison  shrugged  his  broad  shoulders. 

"Jim,  Jim,  you  don't  know  what  you  are 
doing!  But  I've  heard  you  speak  like  that  be- 
fore, and  I  know  that  it  ends  in  your  getting 
your  way." 

"  I  trust,  Harrison,  that  your  opposition  is 
withdrawn,"  said  my  uncle. 

"  Can  I  not  take  his  place  ?  " 

"  You  would  not  have  it  said  that  I  gave  a 
challenge  and  let  another  carry  it  out,"  whispered 
Boy  Jim.  "  This  is  my  one  chance.  For  Heaven's 
sake  don't  stand  in  my  way ! " 

The  smith's  broad  and  usually  stolid  face  was 
working  with  his  conflicting  emotions.  At  last 
he  banged  his  fist  down  upon  the  table. 

"  It's  no  fault  of  mine  ! "  he  cried.    "  It  was 


THE  FIGHT   IN   THE  COACH   HOUSE.         209 

to  be  and  it  is. — Jim,  boy,  for  the  Lord's  sake, 
remember  your  distances,  and  stick  to  out-fight- 
ing with  a  man  that  could  give  you  a  stone." 

"  I  was  sure  that  Harrison  would  not  stand  in 
the  way  of  sport,"  said  my  uncle.  "  We  are  glad 
that  you  have  stepped  up  that  we  might  consult 
you  as  to  the  arrangements  for  giving  effect  to 
your  very  sporting  challenge." 

"  Whom  am  I  to  fight  ? "  asked  Jim,  looking 
round  at  the  company,  who  were  now  all  upon 
their  feet. 

"  Young  man,  you'll  know  enough  of  who  you 
'ave  to  fight  before  you  are  through  with  it," 
cried  Berks,  lurching  heavily  through  the  crowd. 
"  You'll  need  a  friend  to  swear  to  you  before  I've 
finished,  d'ye  see  ?  " 

Jim  looked  at  him  with  disgust  in  every  line 
of  his  face. 

"  Surely  you  are  not  going  to  set  me  to  fight 
a  drunken  man,"  said  he.  "  Where's  Jem 
Belcher?" 

"  My  name,  young  man." 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  try  you,  if  I  may." 

"  You  must  work  up  to  me,  my  lad.  You 
don't  take  a  ladder  at  one  jump,  but  you  do  it 
rung  by  rung.  Show  youself  to  be  a  match  for 
me,  and  I'll  give  you  a  turn." 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Jim. 


2io  RODNEY   STONE. 

"And  I  like  the  look  of  you  and  I  wish  you 
well,"  said  Belcher,  holding  out  his  hand.  They 
were  not  unlike  each  other  either  in  face  or  fig- 
ure, though  the  Bristol  man  was  a  few  years  the 
older,  and  a  murmur  of  critical  admiration  was 
heard  as  the  two  tall,  lithe  figures  and  clean-cut 
faces  were  contrasted. 

"  Have  you  any  choice  where  the  fight  takes 
place  ?  "  asked  my  uncle. 

"  I  am  in  your  hands,  sir,"  said  Jim. 

"  Why  not  go  round  to  the  Fives  Court  ? " 
suggested  Sir  John  Lade. 

"  Yes,  let  us  all  go  to  the  Fives  Court." 

But  this  did  not  at  all  suit  the  views  of  the 
landlord,  who  saw  in  this  lucky  incident  a  chance 
of  reaping  a  fresh  harvest  from  his  spendthrift 
company. 

"  If  it  please  you,"  he  cried,  "  there  is  no  need 
to  go  so  far.  My  coach  house  at  the  back  of  the 
yard  is  empty,  and  a  better  place  for  a  mill  you'll 
never  find." 

There  was  a  general  shout  in  favour  of  the 
coach  house,  and  those  who  were  nearest  the  door 
began  to  slip  through  in  the  hope  of  securing  the 
best  places.  My  stout  neighbour,  Bill  Warr, 
pulled  Harrison  to  one  side. 

"  I'd  stop  it  if  I  were  you,"  he  whispered. 

"I  would  if  I  could.     It's  no  wish  of  mine  that 


THE   FIGHT   IN   THE   COACH   HOUSE.         2II 

he  should  fight.  But  there's  no  turning  him 
when  once  his  mind  is  set." 

All  his  own  fights  put  together  had  never  re- 
duced the  pugilist  to  such  a  state  of  agitation. 

"  Wait  on  'im  yourself,  then,  and  chuck  up  the 
sponge  when  things  begin  to  go  wrong.  You 
know  Joe  Berks's  record  ?  " 

"  He's  since  my  time." 

"Well,  he's  a  terror,  that's  all.  It's  only 
Belcher  that  can  master  'im.  You  see  the  man 
for  yourself,  six  foot,  fourteen  stone,  and  full  of 
the  devil.  Belcher's  beat  'im  twice,  but  the  sec- 
ond time  'e  'ad  all  'is  work  to  do  it." 

"  Well,  well,  we've  got  to  go  through  with  it. 
You've  not  seen  Boy  Jim  put  his  mawlays  up,  or 
maybe  you'd  think  better  of  his  chances.  When 
he  was  short  of  sixteen  he  licked  the  cock  of  the 
South  Downs,  and  he's  come  on  a  long  way  since 
then." 

The  company  was  swarming  through  the  door 
and  clattering  down  the  stair  as  we  followed  in 
the  stream.  A  fine  rain  was  falling,  and  the  yel- 
low lights  from  the  windows  glistened  upon  the 
wet  cobblestones  in  the  yard.  How  welcome 
that  sweet  breath  of  damp  air  was  after  the  fetid 
atmosphere  of  the  supper  room !  At  the  other 
end  of  the  yard  was  an  open  door,  sharply  out- 
lined by  the  gleam  of  lanterns  within,  and 


212  RODNEY   STONE. 

through  this  they  poured,  amateurs  and  fighting 
men  jostling  each  other  in  their  eagerness  to  get 
to  the  front.  For  my  own  part,  being  a  small- 
ish man,  I  should  have  seen  nothing  had  I  not 
found  an  upturned  bucket  in  a  corner  upon 
which  I  perched  myself  with  the  wall  at  my 
back. 

It  was  a  large  room,  with  a  wooden  floor  and 
an  open  square  in  the  ceiling,  which  was  fringed 
with  the  heads  of  the  hostlers  and  stable  boys 
who  were  looking  down  from  the  harness  room 
above.  A  carriage  lamp  was  slung  in  each  cor- 
ner, and  a  very  large  stable  lantern  hung  from  a 
rafter  in  the  centre.  A  coil  of  rope  had  been 
brought  in,  and,  under  the  direction  of  Jackson, 
four  men  had  been  stationed  to  hold  it. 

"  What  space  do  you  give  them  ?  "  asked  my 
uncle. 

"  Twenty-four,  as  they  are  both  big  ones,  sir." 

"  Very  good,  and  half  minutes  between  rounds, 
I  suppose.  I'll  umpire  if  Sir  Lothian  Hume  will 
do  the  same,  and  you  can  hold  the  watch  and 
referee,  Jackson." 

With  great  speed  and  exactness  every  prep- 
aration was  rapidly  made  by  these  experienced 
men.  Mendoza  and  Dutch  Sam  were  commis- 
sioned to  attend  to  Berks,  while  Champion  Harri- 
son did  the  same  for  Boy  Jim.  Sponges,  towels, 


Jim  had  appeared  in  the  ring. 


THE  FIGHT   IN   THE  COACH   HOUSE.         213 

and  some  brandy  in  a  bladder  were  passed  over 
the  heads  of  the  crowd  for  the  use  of  the  seconds. 

"  Here's  our  man,"  cried  Belcher. — "  Come 
along,  Berks,  or  we'll  go  to  fetch  you." 

Jim  had  appeared  in  the  ring  stripped  to  the 
waist,  with  a  coloured  handkerchief  tied  round 
his  middle.  A  shout  of  admiration  came  from 
the  spectators  as  they  looked  upon  the  fine  lines 
of  his  figure,  and  I  found  myself  roaring  with  the 
rest.  His  shoulders  were  sloping  rather  than 
bulky,  and  his  chest  was  deep  rather  than  broad, 
but  the  muscle  was  all  in  the  right  place,  rippling 
down  in  long,  low  curves  from  neck  to  shoulder, 
and  from  shoulder  to  elbow.  His  work  at  the 
anvil  had  developed  his  arms  to  their  utmost,  and 
his  healthy  country  living  gave  a  sleek  gloss  to 
his  ivory  skin,  which  shone  in  the  lamplight. 
His  expression  was  full  of  spirit  and  confidence, 
and  he  wore  a  grim  sort  of  half-smile  which  I  had 
seen  many  a  time  in  our  boyhood,  and  which 
meant,  I  knew,  that  his  pride  had  set  iron  hard, 
and  that  his  senses  would  fail  him  long  before 
his  courage. 

Joe  Berks  in  the  meanwhile  had  swaggered  in 
and  stood  with  folded  arms  between  his  seconds 
in  the  opposite  corner.  His  face  had  none  of  the 
eager  alertness  of  his  opponent,  and  his  skin,  of  a 
dead  white,  with  heavy  folds  about  the  chest  and 


2i4  RODNEY   STONE. 

ribs,  showed  even  to  my  inexperienced  eyes  that 
he  was  not  a  man  who  should  fight  without  train- 
ing. A  life  of  toping  and  ease  had  left  him  flabby 
and  gross.  On  the  other  hand,  he  was  famous  for 
his  mettle  and  for  his  hitting  power,  so  that  even 
in  face  of  the  advantages  of  youth  and  condition 
the  betting  was  three  to  one  in  his  favour.  His 
heavy-jowled,  clean-shaven  face  expressed  feroci- 
ty as  well  as  courage,  and  he  stood  with  his  small 
bloodshot  eyes  fixed  viciously  upon  Jim,  and  his 
lumpy  shoulders  stooping  a  little  forward  like  a 
fierce  hound  straining  on  a  leash. 

The  hubbub  of  the  betting  had  risen  until  it 
had  drowned  all  other  sounds,  men  shouting 
their  opinions  from  one  side  of  the  coach  house 
to  the  other,  and  waving  their  hands  to  attract 
attention,  or  as  a  sign  that  they  had  accepted  a 
wager.  Sir  John  Lade,  standing  just  in  front  of 
me,  was  roaring  out  the  odds  against  Jim,  and 
laying  them  freely  with  those  who  fancied  the 
appearance  of  the  unknown. 

"  I've  seen  Berks  fight,"  said  he  to  the  Hon. 
Berkeley  Craven.  "  No  country  hawbuck  is  go- 
ing to  knock  out  a  man  with  such  a  record." 

"  He  may  be  a  country  hawbuck,"  the  other 
answered  ;  "  but  I  have  been  reckoned  a  judge  of 
anything  either  on  two  legs  or  four,  and  I  tell 
you,  Sir  John,  that  I  never  saw  a  man  who  looked 


THE   FIGHT   IN   THE   COACH    HOUSE.         215 

better  breed  in  my  life.  Are  you  still  laying 
against  him?" 

"  Three  to  one." 

"  Have  you  once  in  hundreds  ! " 

"  Very  good,  Craven !  There  they  go ! — Berks ! 
Berks  !  Bravo,  Berks  !  bravo ! — I  think,  Craven, 
that  I  shall  trouble  you  for  that  hundred." 

The  two  men  had  stood  up  to  each  other,  Jim 
as  light  upon  his  feet  as  a  goat,  with  his  left  well 
out  and  his  right  thrown  across  the  lower  part 
of  his  chest,  while  Berks  held  both  arms  half  ex- 
tended and  his  feet  almost  level  so  that  he  might 
lead  off  with  either  side.  For  an  instant  they 
looked  each  other  over,  and  then  Berks,  ducking 
his  head  and  rushing  in  with  a  hand-over-hand 
style  of  hitting,  bored  Jim  down  into  his  corner. 
It  was  a  backward  slip  rather  than  a  knockdown, 
but  a  thin  trickle  of  blood  was  seen  at  the  corner 
of  Jim's  mouth.  In  an  instant  the  seconds  had 
seized  their  men  and  carried  them  back  into  their 
corners. 

"  Do  you  mind  doubling  our  bet?  "  said  Berke- 
ley Craven,  who  was  craning  his  neck  to  get  a 
glimpse  of  Jim. 

"  Four  to  one  on  Berks !  Four  to  one  on 
Berks  !  "  cried  the  ringsiders. 

"  The  odds  have  gone  up,  you  see.     Will  you 

have  four  to  one  in  hundreds  ?" 
15 


2i6  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  Very  good,  Sir  John." 

"  You  seem  to  fancy  him  more  for  having 
been  knocked  down." 

"  He  was  pushed  down,  but  he  stopped  every 
blow,  and  I  liked  the  look  on  his  face  as  he  got 
up  again." 

"  Well,  it's  the  old  stager  for  me.  Here  they 
come  again !  He's  got  a  pretty  style,  and  he 
covers  his  points  well,  but  it  isn't  the  best-look- 
ing that  wins." 

They  were  at  it  again,  and  I  was  jumping 
about  upon  my  bucket  in  my  excitement.  It  was 
evident  that  Berks  meant  to  finish  the  battle  off- 
hand, while  Jim,  with  two  of  the  most  experi- 
enced men  in  England  to  advise  him,  was  quite 
aware  that  his  correct  tactics  were  to  allow  the 
ruffian  to  expend  his  strength  and  win  in  vain. 
There  was  something  horrible  in  the  ferocious 
energy  of  Berks's  hitting,  every  blow  fetching  a 
grunt  from  him  as  he  smashed  it  in,  and  after 
each  I  gazed  at  Jim,  as  I  have  gazed  at  a  stranded 
vessel  upon  the  Sussex  beach  when  wave  after 
wave  has  roared  over  it,  fearing  each  time  that  I 
should  find  it  miserably  mangled.  But  still  the 
lamplight  shone  upon  the  lad's  clear  alert  face, 
upon  his  well-opened  eyes  and  his  firm-set  mouth, 
while  the  blows  were  taken  upon  his  forearm  or 
allowed,  by  a  quick  duck  of  the  head,  to  whistle 


THE   FIGHT   IN    THE   COACH    HOUSE.          2I/ 

over  his  shoulder.  But  Berks  was  artful  as  well 
as  violent.  Gradually  he  worked  Jim  back  into 
an  angle  of  the  ropes  from  which  there  was  no 
escape,  and  then  when  he  had  him  fairly  pinned 
he  sprang  upon  him  like  a  tiger.  What  hap- 
pened was  so  quick  that  I  can  not  set  its  sequence 
down  in  words,  but  I  saw  Jim  make  a  quick  stoop 
under  the  swinging  arms,  and  at  the  same  instant 
I  heard  a  ringing  smack,  and  there  was  Jim  danc- 
ing about  in  the  middle  of  the  ring,  and  Berks 
lying  upon  his  side  on  the  floor  with  his  hand  to 
his  eye. 

How  they  roared !  Prize-fighters,  Corinthians, 
prince,  stable  boy,  and  landlord  were  all  shouting 
at  the  top  of  their  lungs.  Old  Buckhorse  was 
skipping  about  on  a  box  beside  me,  shrieking  out 
criticisms  and  advice  in  strange  obsolete  ring 
jargon,  which  no  one  could  understand.  His  dull 
eyes  were  shining,  his  parchment  face  was  quiver- 
ing with  excitement,  and  his  strange  musical  call 
rang  out  above  the  hubbub.  The  two  men  were 
hurried  to  their  corners,  one  second  sponging 
them  down  and  the  other  flapping  a  towel  in 
front  of  their  faces,  while  they,  with  arms  hanging 
down  and  legs  extended,  tried  to  draw  all  the  air 
they  could  into  their  lungs  in  the  brief  space  al- 
lowed them. 

"  Where's  your  country  hawbuck  now  ?  "  cried 


2I8  RODNEY   STONE. 

Craven,  triumphantly.  "  Did  ever  you  witness 
anything  more  masterly  ?  " 

"  He's  no  Johnny  Raw,  certainly,"  said  Sir 
John,  shaking  his  head. — "  What  odds  are  you 
giving  on  Berks,  Lord  Sele  ?  " 

"  Two  to  one." 

"  I  take  you  twice  in  hundreds." 

"  Here's  Sir  John  Lade  hedging !  "  cried  my 
uncle,  smiling  back  at  us  over  his  shoulder. 

"  Time ! "  said  Jackson,  and  the  two  men 
sprang  forward  to  the  mark  again. 

This  round  was  a  good  deal  shorter  than  that 
which  had  preceded  it.  Berks's  orders  evidently 
were  to  close  at  any  cost,  and  so  make  use  of  his 
extra  weight  and  strength  before  the  superior 
condition  of  his  antagonist  could  have  time  to 
tell.  On  the  other  hand,  Jim,  after  his  experience 
in  the  last  round,  was  less  disposed  to  make  any 
great  exertion  to  keep  him  at  arm's  length.  He 
led  at  Berks's  head  as  he  came  rushing  in  and 
missed  him,  receiving  a  severe  body  blow  in  re- 
turn, which  left  the  imprint  of  four  angry  knuckles 
above  his  ribs.  As  they  closed  Jim  caught  his 
opponent's  bullet  head  under  his  arm  for  an  in- 
stant, and  put  a  couple  of  half-arm  blows  in,  but 
the  prize-fighter  pulled  him  over  by  his  weight, 
and  the  two  fell  panting  side  by  side  upon  the 
ground.  Jim  sprang  up,  however,  and  walked 


THE   FIGHT   IN   THE   COACH    HOUSE.          219 

over  to  his  corner,  while  Berks,  distressed  by  his 
evening's  dissipation,  leaned  one  arm  upon  Men- 
doza  and  the  other  upon  Dutch  Sam,  as  he  made 
for  his  seat. 

"  Bellows  to  mend ! "  cried  Jem  Belcher. 
"  Where's  the  four  to  one  now  ?  " 

"  Give  us  time  to  get  the  lid  off  our  pepper- 
box," said  Mendoza.  "  We  mean  to  make  a  night 
of  it." 

"  Looks  like  it,"  cried  Jack  Harrison.  "  He's 
shut  one  of  his  eyes  already.  Even  money  that 
my  boy  wins  it !  " 

"  How  much  ?  "  asked  several  voices. 

"  Two  pound,  four  and  threepence,"  cried 
Harrison,  counting  out  all  his  worldly  wealth. 

"  Time  !  "  said  Jackson  once  more. 

They  were  both  at  the  mark  in  an  instant,  Jim 
as  full  of  sprightly  confidence  as  ever,  and  Berks 
with  a  dogged  grin  upon  his  bulldog  face,  and  a 
most  vicious  gleam  in  the  only  eye  which  was  of 
use  to  him.  His  half-minute  had  not  enabled  him 
to  recover  his  breath,  and  his  huge  hairy  chest 
was  rising  and  falling  with  a  quick,  loud  panting 
like  a  spent  hound.  "  Go  in,  boy  !  Bustle  him  !  " 
roared  Harrison  and  Belcher. — "  Get  your  wind, 
Joe,  get  your  wind ! "  cried  the  Jews.  So  now 
we  had  a  reversal  of  tactics,  for  it  was  Jim  who 
went  in  to  hit  with  all  the  vigour  of  his  young 


220  RODNEY  STONE. 

strength  and  unimpaired  energy,  while  it  was  the 
savage  Berks  who  was  paying  his  debt  to  Nature 
for  the  many  injuries  which  he  had  done  her. 
He  gasped,  he  gurgled,  his  face  grew  purple  in 
his  attempts  to  get  his  breath,  while  with  his  long 
left  arm  extended  and  his  right  thrown  across  he 
tried  to  screen  himself  from  the  attack  of  his 
young  antagonist.  "  Drop  when  he  hits  !  "  cried 
Mendoza,  "  drop  and  have  a  rest." 

But  there  was  no  shyness  or  shiftiness  about 
Berks's  fighting.  He  was  always  a  gallant  ruffian 
who  disdained  to  go  down  before  an  antagonist 
as  long  as  his  legs  would  sustain  him.  He 
propped  Jim  off  with  his  long  arm,  and  though 
the  lad  sprang  lightly  round  him,  looking  for  an 
opening,  he  was  held  off  as  if  a  forty-inch  bar  of 
iron  were  between  them.  Every  instant  now  was 
in  favour  of  Berks,  and  already  his  breathing  was 
easier  and  the  bluish  tinge  fading  from  his  face. 
Jim  knew  that  his  chance  of  a  speedy  victory  was 
slipping  away  from  him,  and  he  came  back  again 
and  again  as  swift  as  a  flash  to  the  attack  without 
being  able  to  get  past  the  passive  defence  of  the 
trained  fighting  man.  It  was  at  such  a  moment 
that  ringcraft  was  needed,  and,  luckily  for  Jim,  two 
masters  of  it  were  at  his  back.  "  Get  your  left 
on  his  mark,  boy  !  "  they  shouted.  "  Then  go  to 
his  head  with  the  right !  " 


THE  FIGHT   IN   THE  COACH   HOUSE.         22I 

Jim  heard,  and  acted  on  the  instant.  Plunk ! 
came  his  left  just  where  his  antagonist's  ribs 
curved  from  his  breastbone.  The  force  of  the 
blow  was  half  broken  by  Berks's  elbow,  but  it 
served  its  purpose  of  bringing  forward  his  head. 
Spank !  went  the  right,  with  the  clear,  crisp 
sound  of  two  billiard  balls  clapping  together,  and 
Berks  reeled,  flung  up  his  arms,  spun  round,  and 
fell  in  a  huge,  fleshy  heap  upon  the  floor.  His 
seconds  were  on  him  instantly,  and  propped  him 
up  in  a  sitting  position,  his  head  rolling  helplessly 
from  one  shoulder  to  the  other,  and  finally  top- 
pling backward  with  his  chin  pointed  to  the  ceil- 
ing. Dutch  Sam  thrust  the  brandy  bladder  be- 
tween his  teeth,  while  Mendoza  shook  him  sav- 
agely and  howled  insults  in  his  ear,  but  neither 
the  spirits  nor  the  sense  of  injury  could  break  into 
that  serene  tranquillity.  Time  was  duly  called, 
and  the  Jews,  seeing  that  the  affair  was  over,  let 
their  man's  head  fall  back  with  a  crack  upon  the 
floor,  and  there  he  lay,  his  huge  arms  and  legs 
a-sprawl,  while  the  Corinthians  and  fighting  men 
crowded  past  him  to  shake  the  hand  of  his  con- 
queror. 

For  my  part  I  tried  also  to  pass  through  the 
throng,  but  it  was  no  easy  task  for  one  of  the 
smallest  and  weakest  men  in  the  room.  On  all 
sides  of  me  I  heard  a  brisk  discussion  from  ama- 


222  RODNEY  STONE. 

teurs  and  professionals  of  Jim's  performance  and 
of  his  prospects. 

"  He's  the  best  bit  of  new  stuff  that  I've  seen 
since  Jem  Belcher  fought  his  first  fight  with  Pad- 
dington  Jones  at  Wormwood  Scrubs  four  years 
ago  last  April,"  said  Berkeley  Craven.  "  You'll 
see  him  with  the  belt  round  his  waist  before  he's 
five  and  twenty,  or  I  am  no  judge  of  a  man." 

"  That  handsome  lace  of  his  has  cost  me  a 
cool  five  hundred,"  grumbled  Sir  John  Lade. 
"  Who'd  have  thought  that  he  was  such  a  punish- 
ing hitter?" 

"  For  all  that,"  said  another,  "  I  am  confident 
that  if  Joe  Berks  had  been  sober  he  would  have 
eaten  him.  Besides,  the  lad  was  in  training,  and 
the  other  would  have  burst  like  an  overdone  po- 
tato if  he  were  hit.  I  never  saw  a  man  so  soft, 
or  with  his  wind  in  such  a  condition.  Put  the 
men  in  training,  and  it's  a  horse  to  a  hen  on  the 
bruiser." 

Some  agreed  with  the  last  speaker,  and  some 
were  against  him,  so  that  a  brisk  argument  was 
being  carried  on  around  me.  In  the  midst  of  it 
the  prince  took  his  departure,  which  was  the  sig- 
nal for  the  greater  part  of  the  company  to  make 
for  the  door.  In  this  way  I  was  able  at  last  to 
reach  the  corner  where  Jim  had  just  finished  his 
dressing,  while  Champion  Harrison,  with  tears  of 


THE  FIGHT   IN   THE   COACH   HOUSE.         223 

joy  still  shining  upon  his  cheeks,  was  helping  him 
on  with  his  overcoat. 

"  In  four  rounds  !  "  he  kept  repeating,  in  a  sort 
of  ecstasy.  "  Joe  Berks  in  four  rounds  !  And  it 
took  Jem  Belcher  fourteen." 

"  Well,  Roddy,"  cried  Jim,  holding  out  his 
hand,  "  I  told  you  that  I  would  come  to  London 
and  make  my  name  known." 

"  It  was  splendid,  Jim  !  " 

"  Dear  old  Roddy  !  I  saw  your  white  face 
staring  at  me  from  the  corner.  You  are  not 
changed  for  all  your  grand  clothes  and  your  Lon- 
don friends." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  changed,  Jim,"  said  I.  "  I 
hardly  knew  you  when  you  came  into  the  room." 

"  Nor  I,"  cried  the  smith.  "  Where  got  you 
all  these  fine  feathers,  Jim  ?  Sure  I  am  that  it 
was  not  your  aunt  that  helped  you  to  the  first 
step  toward  the  prize  ring." 

"  Miss  Hinton  has  been  my  friend — the  best 
friend  I  ever  had." 

"  Humph  !  I  thought  as  much,"  grumbled  the 
smith.  "  Well,  it  is  no  doing  of  mine,  Jim,  and 
you  must  bear  witness  to  that  when  we  go  home 
again.  I  don't  know  what — but  there,  it  is  done, 
and  it  can't  be  helped.  After  all,  she's — now  the 
devil  take  my  clumsy  tongue  !  " 

I  could  not  tell  whether  it  was  the  wine  he 


224 


RODNEY   STONE. 


had  taken  at  supper  or  the  excitement  of  Boy 
Jim's  victory  which  was  affecting  Champion  Har- 
rison, but  his  usually  placid  face  wore  a  most 
disturbed  expression,  and  his  manner  seemed  to 
betray  an  alternation  of  exultation  and  embarrass- 
ment. Jim  looked  curiously  at  him,  wondering 
evidently  what  it  was  that  lay  behind  these 
abrupt  sentences  and  sudden  silences.  The 
coach  house  had  in  the  meanwhile  been  cleared, 
Berks  with  many  curses  had  staggered  at  last  to 
his  feet  and  had  gone  off  in  the  company  of  two 
other  bruisers,  while  Jem  Belcher  alone  remained 
chatting  very  earnestly  with  my  uncle. 

"  Very  good,  Belcher,"  I  heard  my  uncle  say. 

"  It  would  be  a  real  pleasure  to  me  to  do  it, 
sir,"  said  the  famous  prize-fighter,  as  the  two 
walked  toward  us. 

"  I  wished  to  ask  you,  Jim  Harrison,  whether 
you  would  undertake  to  be  my  champion  in  the 
fight  against  Crab  Wilson,  of  Gloucester,"  said 
my  uncle. 

"  That  is  what  I  want,  Sir  Charles — to  have  a 
chance  of  fighting  my  way  upward." 

"There  are  heavy  stakes  upon  the  event — 
very  heavy  stakes,"  said  my  uncle.  "  You  will 
receive  two  hundred  pounds  if  you  win.  Does 
that  satisfy  you  ?  " 

"  I  shall  fight  for  the  honour,  and   because   I 


THE    FIGHT   IN   THE   COACH    HOUSE. 


225 


wish  to  be  thought  worthy  of  being  matched 
against  Jem  Belcher." 

Belcher  laughed  good-humouredly. 

"  You're  going  the  right  way  about  it,  lad," 
said  he.  "  But  you  had  a  soft  thing  on  to-night, 
with  a  drunken  man  who  was  out  of  condition." 

"  I  did  not  wish  to  fight  him,"  said  Jim, 
flushing. 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  have  spirit  enough  to  fight 
anything  on  two  legs.  I  knew  that  the  instant  I 
clapped  eyes  on  you.  But  I  want  you  to  remem- 
ber that  when  you  fight  Crab  Wilson  you  will 
fight  the  most  promising  man  from  the  west,  and 
that  the  best  man  of  the  west  is  likely  to  be  the 
best  man  in  England.  He's  as  quick  and  as  long 
in  the  reach  as  you  are,  and  he'll  train  himself  to 
the  last  half  ounce  of  tallow.  I  tell  you  this  now, 
d'ye  see,  because  if  I'm  to  have  the  charge  of 
you " 

"  Charge  of  me  !  " 

"  Yes  !  "  said  my  uncle.  "  Belcher  has  con- 
sented to  train  you  for  the  coming  battle  if  you 
are  willing  to  enter." 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you," 
cried  Jim,  heartily.  "  Unless  my  uncle  should 
wish  to  train  me,  there's  no  one  I  would  rather 
have." 

"  Nay,  Jim.     I'll  stay   with  you  a  few  days, 


226  RODNEY   STONE. 

but  Belcher  knows  a  deal  more  about  training 
than  I  do.  Where  will  the  quarters  be?" 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  handy  for  you  if  we 
fixed  it  at  the  George  at  Crawley.  Then  if  we 
have  the  choice  of  place  we  might  choose  Craw- 
ley  Down,  for,  except  Moseley  Hurst,  and  maybe 
Smitham  Bottom,  there  isn't  a  spot  in  the  country 
that  would  compare  with  it  for  a  mill.  Do  you 
agree  to  that  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Jim. 

"  Then  you're  my  man  from  this  hour  on,  d'ye 
see  ? "  said  Belcher.  "  Your  food  is  mine  and 
your  drink  is  mine  and  your  sleep  is  mine,  and 
all  you've  to  do  is  just  what  you  are  told.  We 
haven't  an  hour  to  lose,  for  Wilson  has  been  in 
half  training  this  month  back.  You  saw  his  empty 
glass  to-night?" 

"  Jim's  fit  to  fight  for  his  life  at  the  present 
moment,"  said  Harrison.  "  But  we'll  both  come 
down  with  you  to  Crawley  to-morrow.  So  good 
night,  Sir  Charles." 

"  Good  night,  Roddy,"  said  Jim.  "  You'll 
come  down  to  Crawley  and  see  me  at  my  train- 
ing quarters,  will  you  not?"  And  I  heartily 
promised  that  I  would. 

"  You  must  be  more  careful,  nephew,"  said  my 
uncle,  as  we  rattled  home  in  his  model  vis-a-vis. 
"  In  premiere  jeunesse  one  is  a  little  inclined  to 


THE   FIGHT    IN   THE   COACH    HOUSE. 


227 


be  ruled  by  one's  heart  rather  than  one's  reason. 
Jim  Harrison  seems  to  be  a  most  respectable 
young  fellow,  but,  after  all,  he  is  a  blacksmith's 
apprentice  and  a  candidate  for  the  prize  ring. 
There  is  a  vast  gap  between  his  position  and  that 
of  my  own  blood  relation,  and  you  must  let  him 
feel  that  you  are  his  superior." 

"  He  is  the  oldest  and  dearest  friend  that  I 
have  in  the  world,  sir,"  I  answered.  "  We  were 
boys  together,  and  have  never  had  a  secret  from 
each  other.  As  to  showing  him  that  I  am  his 
superior,  I  don't  know  how  I  can  do  that,  for  I 
know  very  well  that  he  is  mine." 

"  Hum  !  "  said  my  uncle  dryly,  and  it  was  the 
last  word  that  he  addressed  to  me  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XII.  • 

THE  COFFEE  ROOM  OF  FLADONG'S. 

So  Boy  Jim  went  down  to  the  George  at 
Crawley  under  the  charge  of  Jem  Belcher  and  his 
uncle  to  train  for  his  great  fight  with  Crab  Wil- 
son, of  Gloucester,  while  every  club  and  bar  par- 
lour of  London  rang  with  the  account  of  how  he 
had  appeared  at  a  supper  of  Corinthians  and 
beaten  the  formidable  Joe  Berks  in  four  rounds. 
Jim  had  told  me  that  he  would  make  his  name 
known,  and  his  words  had  come  true  sooner  than 
he  could  have  expected  it,  for  go  where  one 
might,  one  heard  of  nothing  but  the  match  be- 
tween Sir  Lothian  Hume  and  Sir  Charles  Tregel- 
lis  and  the  points  of  the  two  probable  combatants. 
The  betting  was  still  strongly  in  favour  of  Wilson, 
for  he  had  a  number  of  bye-battles  to  set  against 
this  single  victory  of  Jim's,  and  it  was  thought  by 
connoisseurs  who  had  seen  him  spar  that  the  sin- 
gular defensive  tactics  which  had  given  him  his 

nickname  would  prove  very  puzzling  to  a  raw 

228 


THE   COFFEE    ROOM   OF   FLADONG'S. 


229 


antagonist.  In  height,  strength,  and  reputation 
for  gameness  there  was  very  little  to  choose 
between  them,  but  Wilson  had  been  the  more 
severely  tested. 

It  was  but  a  few  days  before  the  battle  that 
my  father  made  his  promised  visit  to  London. 
The  seaman  had  no  love  for  cities,  and  was  hap- 
pier when  wandering  over  the  Downs,  and  turning 
his  glass  upon  every  topsail  which  showed  above 
the  horizon,  than  in  finding  his  way  among 
crowded  streets,  where,  as  he  complained,  it  was 
impossible  to  keep  a  course  by  the  sun,  and  very 
hard  by  dead  reckoning.  Rumours  of  war  were 
in  the  air,  however,  and  it  was  necessary  that  he 
should  use  his  influence  with  Lord  Nelson  if  a 
vacancy  was  to  be  found  either  for  himself  or 
for  me. 

My  uncle  had  just  set  forth,  as  was  his  custom 
of  an  evening,  clad  in  his  green  riding  frock,  his 
plate  buttons,  his  Cordovan  boots,  and  his  round 
hat,  to  show  himself  upon  his  little  crop-tailed  tit 
in  the  Mall.  I  had  remained  behind,  for,  indeed, 
I  had  already  made  up  my  mind  that  I  had  no 
calling  for  this  fashionable  life.  These  men,  with 
their  small  waists,  their  gestures,  and  their  un- 
natural ways,  had  become  wearisome  to  me,  and 
even  my  uncle,  with  his  cold  and  patronizing 
manner,  filled  me  with  very  mixed  feelings.  My 


230  RODNEY  STONE. 

thoughts  were  back  in  Sussex,  and  I  was  dream- 
ing of  the  kindly,  simple  ways  of  the  country, 
when  there  came  a  rat-tat  at  the  knocker,  the  ring 
of  a  hearty  voice,  and  there  in  the  doorway  was 
the  smiling,  weather-beaten  face,  with  the  puck- 
ered eyelids  and  the  light  blue  eyes. 

"  Why,  Roddy,  you  are  grand,  indeed  !  "  he 
cried.  "  But  I  had  rather  see  you  with  the 
king's  blue  coat  upon  your  back  than  with  all 
these  frills  and  ruffles." 

"  And  I  had  rather  wear  it,  father,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"  It  makes  me  glad  to  hear  you  say  so. 
Lord  Nelson  had  promised  me  that  he  would 
find  a  berth  for  you,  and  to-morrow  we  shall 
seek  him  out  and  remind  him  of  it.  But  where 
is  your  uncle  ?  " 

"  He  is  riding  in  the  Mall." 

A  look  of  relief  passed  over  my  father's  honest 
face,  for  he  was  never  very  easy  in  his  brother-in- 
law's  company.  "  I  have  been  to  the  admiralty," 
said  he,  "  and  I  trust  that  I  shall  have  a  ship 
when  war  breaks  out ;  by  all  accounts  it  will 
not  be  long  first.  Lord  St.  Vincent  told  me  so 
with  his  own  lips.  But  I  am  at  Fladong's,  Rod- 
ney, where,  if  you  will  come  and  sup  with  me, 
you  will  see  some  of  my  messmates  from  the 
Mediterranean." 


THE  COFFEE  ROOM   OF   FLADONG'S.          231 

When  you  think  that  in  the  last  year  of  the 
war  we  had  one  hundred  and  forty  thousand 
seamen  and  marines  afloat,  commanded  by  four 
thousand  officers,  and  that  half  of  these  had 
been  turned  adrift  when  the  Peace  of  Amiens 
laid  their  ships  up  in  the  Hamoaze  or  Portsdovvn 
Creek,  you  will  understand  that  London,  as  well 
as  the  dockyard  towns,  was  .full  of  seafarers. 
You  could  not  walk  the  streets  without  catching- 
sight  of  gipsy-faced,  keen-eyed  men,  whose  plain 
clothes  told  of  their  empty  purses  as  plainly  as 
their  listless  air  showed  their  weariness  of  a  life 
of  forced  and  unaccustomed  inaction.  Amid  the 
dark  streets  and  brick  houses  there  was  some- 
thing out  of  place  in  their  appearance,  as  when 
the  seagulls,  driven  by  stress  of  weather,  are  seen 
in  the  midland  shires.  Yet,  while  prize  courts 
procrastinated,  or  there  was  a  chance  of  an 
appointment  by  showing  their  sunburned  faces 
at  the  admiralty,  so  long  they  would  continue 
to  pace,  with  their  quarter-deck  strut,  down 
Whitehall,  or  to  gather  of  an  evening  to  discuss 
the  events  of  the  last  war  or  the  chances  of  the 
next  at  Fladong's  in  Oxford  Street,,  which  was 
reserved  as  entirely  for  the  navy  as  Slaughter's 
was  for  the  army  or  Ibbetson's  for  the  Church  of 
England. 

It   did   not   surprise    me,   therefore,    that   we 

16 


232  RODNEY   STONE. 

should  find  the  large  room  in  which  we  supped 
crowded  with  naval  men,  but  I  remember  that 
what  did  cause  me  some  astonishment  was  to 
observe  that  all  these  sailors  who  had  served 
under  the  most  varying  conditions,  in  all  quar- 
ters of  the  globe,  from  the  Baltic  to  the  West 
Indies,  should  have  been  moulded  into  so  uniform 
a  type  that  they  were  more  like  each  other  than 
brother  is  commonly  to  brother.  The  rules  of 
the  service  insured  that  every  face  should  be 
clean-shaven,  every  head  powdered,  and  every 
neck  covered  by  the  little  queue  of  natural  hair, 
tied  with  a  black  silk  ribbon.  Biting  winds  and 
tropical  suns  had  combined  to  darken  them, 
while  the  habit  of  command  and  the  menace  of 
ever-recurring  dangers  had  stamped  them  all 
with  the  same  expression  of  authority  and  alert- 
ness. There  were  some  jovial  faces  among 
them,  but  the  older  officers,  with  their  deep- 
lined  cheeks  and  their  masterful  noses,  were  for 
the  most  part  as  austere  as  so  many  weather- 
beaten  ascetics  from  the  desert.  Lonely  watch- 
ers and  a  discipline  which  cut  them  off  from  all 
companionship  had  left  their  mark  upon  those 
red-Indian  faces.  For  my  part,  I  could  hardly 
eat  my  supper  for  watching  them.  Young  as  I 
was,  I  knew  that  if  there  were  any  freedom  left 
in  Europe,  it  was  to  these  men  that  we  owed  it, 


THE   COFFEE    ROOM   OF   FLADONG'S. 


233 


and  I  seemed  to  read  upon  their  grim,  harsh 
features  the  record  of  that  long  ten  years  of 
struggle  which  had  swept  the  tricolor  from  the 
seas. 

When  we  had  finished  our  supper  my  father 
led  me  into  the  great  coffee  room,  where  one 
hundred  or  more  officers  may  have  been  assem- 
bled, drinking  their  wine  and  smoking  their  long 
clay  pipes,  until  the  air  was  as  thick  as  the  main 
deck  in  a  close-fought  action. 

"There's  many  a  man  here,  Rodney,"  said  my 
father,  as  he  glanced  about  him,  "  whose  name 
may  never  find  its  way  into  any  book  save  his 
own  ship's  log,  but  who  in  his  own  way  has  set 
as  fine  an  example  as  any  admiral  of  them  all. 
We  know  them  and  talk  of  them .  in  the  fleet, 
though  they  may  never  be  bawled  in  the  streets 
of  London.  There's  as  much  seamanship  and 
pluck  in  a  good  cutter  action  as  in  a  line-o'-battle 
ship  fight,  though  you  may  not  come  by  a  title  or 
the  thanks  of  Parliament  for  it.  There's  Hamilton, 
for  example,  the  quiet,  pale-faced  man  who  is 
leaning  against  the  pillar.  It  was  he  who  with 
six  rowing  boats  cut  out  the  forty-four-gun  frigate 
Hermione  from  under  the  muzzles  of  two  hun- 
dred shore  guns  in  the  harbour  of  Puerto  Cabello. 
No  finer  action  was  done  in  the  whole  war. 
There's  Brereton,  with  the  whiskers.  It  was  he 


2 34  RODNEY    STONE. 

who  attacked  twelve  Spanish  gunboats  in  his  own 
little  brig,  and  made  four  of  them  strike  to  him. 
There's  Walker,  of  the  Rose  cutter,  who  with 
thirteen  men  engaged  three  French  privateers, 
with  crews  of  a  hundred  and  forty-six.  He  sank 
one,  captured  one,  and  chased  the  third. — How 
are  you,  Captain  Bell  ?  I  hope  I  see  you  well." 

Two  or  three  of  my  father's  acquaintances, 
who  had  been  sitting  close  by,  drew  up  their 
chairs  to  us,  and  soon  quite  a  circle  had  formed, 
all  talking  loudly  and  arguing  upon  sea  matters, 
shaking  their  long,  red-tipped  pipes  at  each  other 
as  they  spoke.  My  father  whispered  in  my  ear 
that  his  neighbour  was  Captain  Foley,  of  the 
Goliath,  who  led  the  van  at  the  Nile,  and  that 
the  tall,  thin,  foxy-haired  man  opposite  was  Lord 
Cochrane,  the  most  dashing  frigate  captain  in 
the  service.  Even  at  Friar's  Oak  we  had  heard 
how  in  the  little  Speedy  of  fourteen  small  guns, 
with  fifty-four  men,  he  had  carried  by  boarding 
the  Spanish  frigate  Gamo  with  her  crew  of  three 
hundred.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  was  a  quick, 
irascible  man,  for  he  was  talking  hotly  about  his 
grievances  with  a  flush  of  anger  upon  his  freckled 
cheeks. 

It  was  of  interest  to  me  to  hear  these  men 
who  were  spending  their  lives  in  fighting  against 
our  neighbours  discussing  their  character  and 


THE   COFFEE   ROOM   OF   FLADONG'S.          235 

ways.  You  can  not  conceive — you  who  live  in 
times  of  peace  and  charity — how  fierce  the  hatred 
was  in  England  at  that  time  against  the  French, 
and  above  all  against  their  great  leader.  It  was 
more  than  a  mere  prejudice  or  dislike.  It  was 
a  deep,  aggressive  loathing  which  you  may  even 
now  form  some  conception  of  if  you  examine  the 
papers  or  caricatures  of  the  day.  The  word 
Frenchman  was  hardly  spoken  without  "  rascal  " 
or  "  scoundrel "  slipping  in  before  it.  In  all 
ranks  of  life  and  in  every  part  of  the  country  the 
feeling  was  the  same.  Even  the  Jacks  aboard 
our  ships  fought  with  a  viciousness  against  a 
French  vessel  which  they  would  never  show  to 
Dane,  Dutchman,  or  Spaniard. 

If  you  ask  me  now  after  fifty  years  why  it  was 
that  there  should  have  been  this  virulent  feeling 
against  them,  so  foreign  to  the  easy-going  and 
tolerant  British  nature,  I  would  confess  that  I 
think  the  real  reason  was  fear.  Not  fear  of  them 
individually,  of  course — our  foulest  detractors 
have  never  called  us  faint-hearted — but  fear  of 
their  star,  fear  of  their  future,  fear  of  the  subtle 
brain  whose  plans  always  seemed  to  go  aright, 
and  of  the  heavy  hand  which  had  struck  nation 
after  nation  to  the  ground.  We  were  but  a  small 
country  with  a  population  which,  when  the  war 
began,  was  not  much  more  than  half  that  of 


236  RODNEY   STONE. 

France.  And  then  France  had  increased  by  leaps 
and  bounds,  reaching  out  to  the  north  into  Bel- 
gium and  Holland,  and  to  the  south  into  Italy, 
while  we  were  weakened  by  deep-lying  disaf- 
fection among  both  Catholics  and  Presbyterians 
in  Ireland.  The  danger  was  imminent  and  plain 
to  the  least  thoughtful.  One  could  not  walk  the 
Kent  coast  without  seeing  the  beacons  heaped  up 
to  tell  the  country  of  the  enemy's  landing,  and  if 
the  sun  was  shining  on  the  uplands  near  Boulogne 
one  might  catch  a  glimpse  of  its  gleam  upon  the 
bayonets  of  manoeuvring  veterans.  No  wonder 
that  a  fear  of  the  French  power  lay  deeply  in  the 
hearts  of  the  most  gallant  men,  and  that  fear 
should,  as  it  always  does,  beget  a  bitter  and  ran- 
corous hatred. 

The  seamen  did  not  speak  kindly  of  their  re- 
cent enemies.  Their  hearts  loathed  them,  and, 
in  the  fashion  of  their  country,  their  lips  said 
what  their  hearts  felt.  Of  the  French  officers 
they  could  not  have  spoken  with  more  chivalry 
as  of  worthy  foemen,  but  the  nation  was  an 
abomination  to  them.  The  older  men  had  fought 
against  them  in  the  American  war,  they  had 
fought  again  for  the  last  ten  years,  and  the  dear- 
est wish  of  their  hearts  seemed  to  be  that  they 
might  be  called  upon  to  do  the  same  for  the  re- 
mainder of  their  days.  Yet  if  I  were  surprised 


THE   COFFEE   ROOM   OF   FLADONG'S.          237 

by  the  virulence  of  their  animosity  against  the 
French,  I  was  even  more  so  to  hear  how  highly 
they  rated  them  as  antagonists.  The  long  suc- 
cession of  British  victories,  which  had  finally 
made  the  French  take  to  their  ports  and  resign 
the  struggle  in  despair,  had  given  all  of  us  the 
idea  that  for  some  reason  a  Briton  on  the  water 
must,  in  the  nature  of  things,  always  have  the  best 
of  it  against  a  Frenchman. 

But  these  men  who  had  done  the  fighting  did 
not  think  so.  They  were  loud  in  their  praise  of 
their  foeman's  gallantry,  and  precise  in  their  rea- 
sons for  his  defeat.  They  showed  how  the  offi- 
cers of  the  old  French  navy  had  nearly  all  been 
aristocrats,  and  how  the  revolution  had  swept 
them  out  of  their  ships  and  the  force  been  left 
with  insubordinate  seamen  and  no  competent 
leaders.  This  ill-directed  fleet  had  been  hustled 
into  port  by  the  pressure  of  the  well-manned  and 
well-commanded  British,  who  had  pinned  them 
there  ever  since,  so  that  they  had  never  had  an 
opportunity  for  learning  seamanship.  Their  har- 
bour drill  and  their  harbour  gunnery  had  been  of 
no  service  when  sails  had  to  be  trimmed  and 
broadsides  fired  on  the  heave  of  an  Atlantic 
swell.  Let  one  of  their  frigates  get  to  sea  and 
have  a  couple  of  years  free  run  in  which  to  learn 
her  duties,  and  then  it  would  be  a  feather  in  the 


238  RODNEY   STONE. 

cap  of  a  British  officer  if,  with  a  ship  of  equal 
force,  he  could  bring  down  her  colours. 

Such  were  the  views  of  these  experienced  offi- 
cers, fortified  by  many  reminiscences  and  examples 
of  French  gallantry,  such  as  the  way  in  which  the 
crew  of  L'Orient  had  fought  her  quarter-deck 
guns  when  the  maindeck  was  in  a  blaze  be- 
neath them,  and  when  they  must  have  known 
that  they  were  standing  over  an  exploding 
magazine.  The  general  hope  was  that  the 
West  Indian  expedition,  since  the  peace,  might 
have  given  many  of  their  fleet  an  ocean  train- 
ing, and  that  thejr  might  be  tempted  out  into 
mid-channel  if  the  war  were  to  break  out 
afresh.  But  would  it  break  out  afresh?  We 
had  spent  gigantic  sums  and  made  enormous  ex- 
ertions to  curb  the  power  of  Napoleon  and  to  pre- 
vent him  from  becoming  the  universal  despot  of 
the  world.  Would  the  Government  try  it  again? 
Or  were  they  appalled  by  the  gigantic  load  of 
debt  which  must  bend  the  backs  of  many  genera- 
tions unborn?  Pitt  was  there,  and  surely  he  was 
not  a  man  to  leave  his  work  half  done ! 

And  then  suddenly  there  was  a  bustle  at  the 
door.  Amid  the  gray  swirl  of  the  tobacco  smoke 
I  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  blue  coat  and  gold 
epaulets,  with  a  crowd  gathering  thickly  around 
them,  while  a  hoarse  murmur  arose  from  the 


THE   COFFEE  ROOM   OF   FLADONG'S.          239 

group,  which  thickened  into  a  deep-chested  cheer. 
Every  one  was  on  his  feet,  peering  and  asking 
each  other  what  it  might  mean.  And  still  the 
crowd  seethed  and  the  cheering  swelled. 

"What  is  it?  What  has  happened?"  cried  a 
score  of  voices. 

"  Put  him  up  !  Hoist  him  up  !  "  shouted  some- 
body, and  an  instant  later  I  saw  an  officer  appear 
above  the  shoulders  of  the  crowd.  His  face  was 
flushed,  and  he  was  waving  what  seemed  to  be 
a  letter  in  the  air.  The  cheering  died  away,  and 
there  was  such  a  hush  that  I  could  hear  the 
crackle  of  the  paper  in  his  hand. 

"  Great  news,  gentlemen  !  "  he  roared.  "  Glo- 
rious news !  Rear-Admiral  Collingwood  has  di- 
rected me  to  communicate  it  to  you.  The  French 
ambassador  has  received  his  papers  to-night. 
Every  ship  on  the  list  is  to  go  into  commission. 
Admiral  Cornwallis  is  ordered  out  of  Cawsand 
Bay,  to  cruise  off  Ushant.  A  squadron  is  start- 
ing for  the  North  Sea  and  another  for  the  Irish 
Channel !  " 

He  may  have  had  more  to  say,  but  his  audi- 
ence could  wait  no  longer.  How  they  shouted 
and  stamped  and  raved  in  their  delight!  Harsh 
old  flag  officers,  grave  post  captains,  young  lieu- 
tenants, all  were  roaring  like  schoolboys  breaking 
up  for  the  holidays.  There  was  no  thought  now 


240 


RODNEY   STONE. 


of  those  manifold  and  weary  grievances  to  which 
I  had  listened.  The  foul  weather  was  passed, 
and  the  landlocked  seabirds  would  be  out  on  the 
foam  once  more.  The  rhythm  of  "  God  save  the 
King ! "  swelled  through  the  babel,  and  I  heard 
the  old  lines  sung  in  a  way  that  made  you  forget 
their  bad  rhymes  and  their  bald  sentiments.  I 
trust  that  you  will  never  hear  them  so  sung,  with 
tears  upon  rugged  cheeks,  and  catchings  of  the 
breath  from  strong  men.  Dark  days  will  have 
come  again  before  you  hear  such  a  song  or  see 
such  a  sight  as  that.  Let  those  talk  of  the  phlegm 
of  our  countrymen  who  have  never  seen  them 
when  the  lava  crust  of  restraint  is  broken,  and 
when  for  an  instant  the  strong  enduring  fires  of 
the  north  glow  upon  the  surface.  I  saw  them 
then,  and  if  I  do  not  see  them  now  I  am  not  so 
old  or  so  foolish  as  to  doubt  that  they  are  there. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

LORD  NELSON. 

MY  father's  appointment  with  Lord  Nelson 
was  an  early  one,  and  he  was  the  more  anxious  to 
be  punctual  as  he  knew  how  much  the  admiral's 
movements  must  be  affected  by  the  news  which 
he  had  heard  the  night  before.  I  had  hardly 
breakfasted  then  and  my  uncle  had  not  yet  rung 
for  his  chocolate  when  he  called  for  me  at  Jermyn 
Street.  A  walk  of  a  few  hundred  yards  brought 
us  to  the  high  building  of  discoloured  brick  in 
Piccadilly,  which  served  the  Hamiltons  as  a  town 
house,  and  which  Nelson  used  as  his  headquarters 
when  business  or  pleasure  called  him  from  Mer- 
ton.  A  footman  answered  our  knock,  and  we 
were  ushered  into  a  large  drawing  room  with 
sombre  furniture  and  melancholy  curtains.  My 
father  sent  in  his  name  and  there  we  sat,  looking 
at  the  white  Italian  statuettes  in  the  corners,  and 
the  large  picture  of  Vesuvius  and  the  Bay  of 

Naples,  which  hung  over  the  harpsichord.     I  can 

241 


242 


RODNEY   STONE. 


remember  that  a  black  clock  was  ticking-  loudly 
upon  the  mantelpiece,  and  that  every  now  and 
then  amid  the  rumble  of  the  hackney  coaches  we 
could  hear  boisterous  laughter  from  some  inner 
chamber. 

When  at  last  the  door  opened  both  my  father 
and  I  sprang  to  our  feet,  thinking  to  find  ourselves 
face  to  face  with  the  greatest  living  Englishman. 
It  was  a  very  different  person,  however,  who 
swept  into  the  room. 

She  was  a  lady,  tall,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
exceedingly  beautiful,  though  perhaps  one  who 
was  more  experienced  and  more  critical  might 
have  thought  that  her  charm  lay  in  the  past 
rather  than  in  the  present.  Her  queenly  figure 
was  moulded  upon  large  and  noble  lines,  while 
her  face,  though  already  tending  to  become  some- 
what heavy  and  coarse,  was  still  remarkable  for 
the  brilliancy  of  the  complexion,  the  beauty  of 
the  large,  light  blue  eyes,  and  the  tinge  of  the 
dark  hair,  which  curled  over  the  low,  white  fore- 
head. She  carried  herself  in  the  most  stately 
fashion,  so  that  as  I  looked  at  her  majestic  en- 
trance, and  at  the  pose  which  she  struck  as  she 
glanced  at  my  father,  I  was  reminded  of  the 
Queen  of  the  Peruvians,  as,  in  the  person  of  Miss 
Hinton,  she  incited  Boy  Jim  and  myself  to  insur- 
rection. 


LORD   NELSON.  243 

"  Lieutenant  Anson  Stone?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  your  ladyship,"  answered  my  father. 

"  Ah ! "  she  cried,  with  an  affected  and  exag- 
gerated start.  "  You  know  me,  then  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  your  ladyship  at  Naples." 

"  Then  you  have  doubtless  seen  my  poor  Sir 
William  also — my  poor,  poor  Sir  William  !  "  She 
touched  her  dress  with  her  white  ring-covered 
fingers,  as  if  to  draw  our  attention  to  the  fact  that 
she  was  in  the  deepest  mourning. 

"  I  heard  of  your  ladyship's  sad  loss,"  said  my 
father. 

"  We  died  together,"  she  cried.  "  What  can 
my  life  be  now  save  a  long-drawn,  living  death  ?  " 
She  spoke  in  a  beautiful,  rich  voice,  with  the 
most  heartbroken  thrill  in  it,  but  I  could  not 
conceal  from  myself  that  she  appeared  to  be  one 
of  the  most  robust  persons  that  I  had  ever  seen, 
and  I  was  surprised  to  notice  that  she  shot 
arch  little  questioning  glances  at  me,  as  if  the 
admiration  of  even  so  insignificant  a  person 
were  of  some  interest  to  her.  My  father, 
in  his  blunt  sailor  fashion,  tried  to  stammer 
out  some  commonplace  condolence,  but  her 
eyes  swept  past  his  rude,  weather-beaten  face 
to  ask  and  reask  what  effect  she  had  made  upon 
me. 

"There  he  hangs,  the  tutelary  angel  of  this 


244 


RODNEY   STONE. 


house,"  she  cried,  pointing  with  a  grand,  sweep- 
ing gesture  to  the  painting  upon  the  wall,  which 
represented  a  very  thin-faced,  high-nosed  gentle- 
man with  several  orders  upon  his  coat.  "  But 
enough  of  my  private  sorrow  !  "  She  dashed  in- 
visible tears  from  her  eyes.  "  You  have  come  to 
see  Lord  Nelson.  He  bid  me  say  that  he  would 
be  with  you  in  an  instant.  You  have  doubtless 
heard  that  hostilities  are  about  to  reopen." 

"  We  heard  the  news  last  night." 

"  Lord  Nelson  is  under  orders  to  take  com- 
mand of  the  Mediterranean  fleet.  You  can  think 
that  at  such  a  moment —  But,  ah  !  is  it  not  his 
lordship's  step  that  I  hear?" 

My  attention  was  so  riveted  by  the  lady's 
curious  manner  and  by  the  gestures  and  attitudes 
with  which  she  accompanied  every  remark  that  I 
did  not  see  the  great  admiral  enter  the  room. 
When  I  turned  he  was  standing  close  by  my 
elbow — a  small,  brown  man,  with  the  lithe,  slim 
figure  of  a  boy.  He  was  not  clad  in  uniform,  but 
he  wore  a  high-collared  brown  coat  with  the  right 
arm  hanging  limp  and  empty  by  his  side.  The 
expression  of  his  face  was,  as  I  remember  it,  ex- 
ceedingly sad  and  gentle,  with  the  deep  lines 
upon  it  which  told  of  the  chafing  of  his  urgent 
and  fiery  soul.  One  eye  was  disfigured  and 
sightless  from  a  wound,  but  the  other  looked 


LORD   NELSON. 


245 


from  my  father  to  myself  with  the  quickest  and 
shrewdest  of  expressions.  Indeed,  his  whole  man- 
ner, with  his  short,  sharp  glance  and  his  fine  poise 
of  the  head,  spoke  of  energy  and  alertness,  so 
that  he  reminded  me,  if  I  may  compare  great 
things  with  small,  of  a  well-bred  fighting  terrier, 
gentle  and  slim,  but  keen  and  ready  for  whatever 
chance  might  send. 

"  Why,  Lieutenant  Stone,"  said  he,  with  great 
cordiality,  holding  out  his  left  hand  to  my  father, 
"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you.  London  is  full  of 
Mediterranean  men,  but  I  trust  that  in  a  week 
there  will  not  be  an  officer  among  you  all  with 
his  feet  on  dry  land." 

"  I  had  come  to  ask  you,  sir,  if  you  could  as- 
sist me  to  a  ship." 

"  You  shall  have  one,  Stone,  if  my  word  goes 
for  anything  at  the  admiralty.  I  shall  want  all 
my  old  Nile  men  at  my  back.  I  can  not  promise 
you  a  first-rate,  but  at  least  it  shall  be  a  sixty-four- 
gunship,  and  I  can  tell  you  that  there  is  much  to 
be  done  with  a  handy,  well-manned,  well-found 
sixty-four-gunship." 

"  Who  could  doubt  it  who  has  heard  of  the 
Agamemnon  ?  "  cried  Lady  Hamilton,  and 
straightway  she  began  to  talk  of  the  admiral 
and  of  his  doings  with  such  extravagance  of 
praise  and  such  a  shower  of  compliments  and  of 


246  RODNEY   STONE. 

epithets  that  my  father  and  I  did  not  know  which 
way  to  look,  feeling  shame  and  sorrow  for  a  man 
who  was  compelled  to  listen  to  such  things  said 
in  his  own  presence.  But  when  I  ventured  to 
glance  at  Lord  Nelson  I  found  to  my  surprise 
that,  far  from  showing  any  embarrassment,  he 
was  smiling  with  pleasure,  as  if  this  gross  flattery 
of  her  ladyship's  were  the  dearest  thing  in  all  the 
world  to  him. 

"  Come,  come,  my  dear  lady,"  said  he,  "  you 
speak  vastly  beyond  my  merits,"  upon  which  en- 
couragement  she  started  again  in  a  theatrical 
apostrophe  to  Britain's  darling  and  Neptune's 
eldest  son,  which  he  endured  with  the  same  signs 
of  gratitude  and  pleasure.  That  a  man  of  the 
world,  forty-five  years  of  age,  shrewd,  honest,  and 
acquainted  with  courts,  should  be  beguiled  by 
such  a  crude  and  coarse  homage  amazed  me,  as 
it  did  all  who  knew  him,  but  you  who  have  seen 
much  of  life  do  not  need  to  be  told  how  often  the 
strongest  and  noblest  nature  has  its  one  inexpli- 
cable weakness,  showing  up  the  more  obviously  in 
contrast  to  the  rest,  as  the  dark  stain  looks  the 
foulest  upon  the  whitest  sheet.  "  You  are  a  sea 
officer  of  my  own  heart,  Stone,"  said  he,  when 
her  ladyship  had  exhausted  her  panegyric.  "  You 
are  one  of  the  old  breed."  He  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  with  little  impatient  steps  as  he 


"  She  must  and  she  shall  be  ready  !  "  cried  Nelson. 


LORD   NELSON. 


247 


talked,  turning  with  a  whisk  upon  his  heel  every 
now  and  then  as  if  some  invisible  rail  had  brought 
him  up.  "  We  are  getting  too  fine  for  our  work 
with  these  new-fangled  epaulets  and  quarter- 
deck trimmings.  When  I  joined  the  service  you 
would  find  a  lieutenant  gammoning  and  rigging 
his  own  bowsprit,  or  aloft,  maybe,  with  a  marlin- 
spike  slung  round  his  neck,  showing  an  example 
to  his  men.  Now  it's  as  much  as  he'll  do  to  carry 
his  own  sextant  up  the  companion.  When  could 
you  join?" 

"  To-night,  my  lord." 

"  Right,  Stone,  right !  That  is  the  true  spirit. 
They  are  working  double  tides  in  the  yards,  but 
I  do  not  know  when  the  ships  will  be  ready.  I 
hoist  my  flag  on  the  Victory  on  Wednesday,  and 
we  sail  at  once." 

"  No,  no ;  not  so  soon  !  She  can  not  be  ready 
for  sea,"  said  Lady  Hamilton,  in  a  wailing  voice, 
clasping  her  hands  and  turning  up  her  eyes  as 
she  spoke. 

"  She  must  and  she  shall  be  ready,"  cried  Nel- 
son, with  extraordinary  vehemence.  "  By  Heaven, 
if  the  devil  stands  at  the  door  I  sail  on  Wednes- 
day !  Who  knows  what  these  rascals  may  be  do- 
ing in  my  absence?  It  maddens  me  to  think  of 
the  deviltries  which  they  may  be  devising.  At 
this  very  instant,  dear  lady,  the  queen,  our  queen, 
17 


248  RODNEY   STONE. 

may  be  straining  her  eyes  for  the  topsails  of  Nel- 
son's ships." 

"  Well,  she  knows  that  her  stainless  knight 
will  never  fail  her  in  her  need,"  said  Lady  Ham- 
ilton. 

Thinking  as  I  did  that  they  were  speaking  of 
our  own  old  Queen  Charlotte,  I  could  make  no 
meaning  out  of  this,  but  my  father  told  me  after- 
ward that  both  Nelson  and  Lady  Hamilton  had 
conceived  an  extraordinary  affection  for  the 
Queen  of  Naples,  and  that  it  was  the  interests 
of  her  little  kingdom  which  he  had  so  strenu- 
ously at  heart.  It  may  have  been  my  expression 
of  bewilderment  which  attracted  Nelson's  atten- 
tion to  me,  for  he  suddenly  stopped  in  his  quick 
quarter-deck  walk  and  looked  me  up  and  down 
with  a  severe  eye. 

"  Well,  young  gentleman  !  "  said  he,  sharply. 

"  This  is  my  only  son,  sir,"  said  my  father. 
"  It  is  my  wish  that  he  should  join  the  service,  if 
a  berth  can  be  found  for  him,  for  we  have  all  been 
king's  officers  for  many  generations." 

"  So  you  wish  to  come  and  have  your  bones 
broken,"  cried  Nelson,  roughly,  looking  with 
much  disfavour  at  the  fine  clothes  which  had 
cost  my  uncle  and  Mr.  Brummel  such  a  debate. 
"  You  will  have  to  change  that  grand  coat  for 
a  tarry  jacket  if  you  serve  under  me,  sir." 


LORD   NELSON. 

I  was  so  embarrassed  by  the  abruptness  of 
his  manner  that  I  could  but  stammer  out  that 
I  hoped  that  I  should  do  my  duty,  on  which 
his  stern  mouth  relaxed  into  a  good-humoured 
smile,  and  he  laid  his  little  brown  hand  for  an 
instant  upon  my  shoulder. 

"  I  dare  say  that  you  will  do  very  well,"  said 
he.  "  I  can  see  that  you  have  the  stuff  in  you. 
But  do  not  imagine  that  it  is  a  light  service 
which  you  undertake,  young  gentleman,  when 
you  enter  his  Majesty's  navy.  It  is  a  hard  pro- 
fession. You  hear  of  the  few  who  succeed,  but 
what  do  you  know  of  the  hundreds  who  never 
find  their  way?  Look  at  my  own  luck!  Out  of 
two  hundred  who  were  with  me  in  the  St.  Juan 
expedition,  one  hundred  and  forty-five  died  in  a 
single  night.  I  have  been  in  one  hundred  and 
eighty  engagements,  and  I  have,  as  you  see,  lost 
my  eye  and  my  arm,  and  been  sorely  wounded 
besides.  It  chanced  that  I  came  through,  and 
here  I  am  flying  my  admiral's  flag,  but  I  re- 
member many  a  man  as  good  as  me  who 
did  not  come  through.  Yes,"  he  added,  as 
her  ladyship  broke  in  with  voluble  protest, 
"  many  and  many  as  good  a  man  who  has 
gone  to  the  sharks  or  the  land  -  crabs.  But  it 
is  a  useless  sailor  who  does  not  risk  himself 
every  day,  and  the  lives  of  all  of  us  are  in  the 


250 


RODNEY  STONE. 


hands  of  Him  who   best  knows   when   to   claim 
them." 

For  an  instant,  in  his  earnest  gaze  and  rever- 
ent manner,  we  seemed  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
deeper,  truer  Nelson,  the  man  of  the  eastern 
counties,  deeply  steeped  in  the  virile  Puritanism 
which  sent  from  that  district  the  Ironsides  to 
fashion  England  within,  and  the  Pilgrim  fathers 
to  spread  it  without.  Here  was  the  Nelson  who 
declared  that  he  saw  the  hand  of  God  pressing 
upon  the  French,  and  who  waited  on  his  knees 
in  the  cabin  of  his  flagship  while  she  bore  down 
upon  the  enemy's  line.  There  was  a  human  ten- 
derness, too,  in  his  way  of  speaking  of  his  dead 
comrades,  which  made  me  understand  why  it 
was  that  he  was  so  beloved  by  all  who  served 
with  him,  for,  iron-hard  as  he  was  as  seaman  and 
fighter,  there  ran  through  his  complex  nature  a 
sweet  and  un-English  power  of  affectionate  emo- 
tion, showing  itself  in  tears,  if  he  were  moved, 
and  in  such  tender  impulses  as  led  him  after- 
ward to  ask  his  flag  captain  to  kiss  him  as 
he  lay  dying  in  the  cockpit  of  the  Victory. 
My  father  had  risen  to  depart,  but  the  admiral, 
with  that  kindliness  which  he  ever  showed  to 
the  young,  and  which  had  been  momentarily 
chilled  by  the  unfortunate  splendour  of  my 
clothes,  still  passed  up  and  down  in  front  of  us, 


LORD   NELSON.  25  I 

shooting  out  crisp  little  sentences  of  exhorta- 
tions and  advice. 

"  It  is  ardour  that  we  need  in  the  service, 
young  gentleman,"  said  he.  "  We  need  red-hot 
men  who  will  never  rest  satisfied.  We  had  them 
in  the  Mediterranean,  and  we  shall  have  them 
again.  There  was  a  band  of  brothers  !  When  I 
was  asked  to  recommend  one  for  special  service  I 
told  the  admiralty  they  might  take  the  names  as 
they  came,  for  the  same  spirit  animated  them  all. 
Had  we  taken  nineteen  vessels  we  should  never 
have  said  it  was  well  done  while  the  twentieth 
sailed  the  seas.  You  know  how  it  was  with  us, 
Stone.  You  are  too  old  a  Mediterranean  man  for 
me  to  tell  you  anything." 

"  I  trust,  my  lord,  that  I  shall  be  with  you 
when  next  we  meet  them,"  said  my  father. 

"  Meet  them  we  shall  and  must.  By  Heaven,  I 
shall  never  rest  until  I  have  given  them  a  shak- 
ing !  The  scoundrel  Bonaparte  wishes  to  humble 
us.  Let  him  try,  and  God  help  the  better  cause ! " 
He  spoke  with  such  extraordinary  animation  that 
the  empty  sleeve  flapped  about  in  the  air,  giving 
him  the  strangest  appearance.  Seeing  my  eyes 
fixed  upon  it,  he  turned  with  a  smile  to  my  father. 

"  I  can  still  work  my  fin,  Stone,"  said  he,  put- 
ting his  hand  across  to  the  stump  of  his  arm. 
"  What  used  they  to  say  in  the  fleet  about  it  ?  " 


252 


RODNEY   STONE. 


"  That  it  was  a  sign,  sir,  that  it  was  a  bad  time 
to  cross  your  hawse." 

"  They  knew  me,  the  rascals !  You  can  see, 
young  gentleman,  that  not  a  scrap  of  the  ardour 
with  which  I  serve  my  country  has  been  shot 
away.  Some  day  you  may  find  that  you  are  fly- 
ing your  own  flag,  and  when  that  time  comes  you 
may  remember  that  my  advice  to  an  officer  is  that 
he  should  have  nothing  to  do  with  tame,  slow 
measures.  Lay  all  your  stake,  and  if  you  lose 
through  no  fault  of  your  own,  the  country  will 
find  you  another  stake  as  large.  Never  mind 
manoeuvres  !  Go  for  them  !  The  only  manoeu- 
vre you  need  is  that  which  will  place  you  along- 
side  your  enemy.  Always  fight,  and  you  will  al- 
ways be  right.  Give  not  a  thought  to  your  own 
ease  or  your  own  life,  for  from  the  day  that  you 
draw  the  blue  coat  over  your  shoulders  you  have 
no  life  of  your  own.  It  is  the  country's,  to  be 
most  freely  spent  if  the  smallest  gain  can  come 
from  it. — How  is  the  wind  this  morning,  Stone  ?  " 

"  East-southeast,"  my  father  answered  readily. 

"  Then  Cornwallis  is  doubtless  keeping  well 
up  to  Brest,  though  for  my  own  I  had  rather 
tempt  them  out  into  the  open  sea." 

"That  is  what  every  officer  and  man  in  the 
fleet  would  prefer,  your  lordship,"  said  my  father. 

"  They  do  not  love  the   blockading  service, 


LORD   NELSON. 


253 


and  it  is  little  wonder,  since  neither  money  nor 
honour  is  to  be  gained  by  it.  You  can  remember 
how  it  was  in  the  winter  months  before  Toulon, 
Stone,  when  we  had  neither  firing,  beef,  pork,  nor 
flour  aboard  the  ship,  nor  a  spare  piece  of  rope, 
canvas,  or  twine.  We  braced  the  old  hulks  with 
our  spare  cables,  and  God  knows  there  was  never 
a  Levanter  that  I  did  not  expect  it  to  send  us  to 
the  bottom  !  But  we  held  our  grip  all  the  same. 
Yet  I  fear  that  we  do  not  get  much  credit  for  it 
here  in  England,  Stone,  where  they  light  the  win- 
dows for  a  great  battle,  but  they  do  not  under- 
stand that  it  is  easier  for  us  to  fight  the  Nile  six 
times  over  than  to  keep  our  station  all  winter  in 
the  blockade.  But  I  pray  God  that  we  may  meet 
this  new  fleet  of  theirs  and  settle  the  matter  by  a 
pell-mell  battle ! " 

"  May  I  be  with  you,  my  lord ! "  said  my 
father,  earnestly.  "  But  we  have  already  taken 
too  much  of  your  time,  and  so  I  beg  to  thank 
you  for  your  kindness,  and  to  wish  you  good 
morning." 

"  Good  morning,  Stone  ! "  said  Nelson.  "  You 
shall  have  your  ship,  and  if  I  can  make  this  young 
gentleman  one  of  my  officers  it  shall  be  done. 
But  I  gather  from  his  dress,"  he  continued,  run- 
ning his  eye  over  me,  "  that  you  have  been  more 
fortunate  in  prize  money  than  most  of  your  com- 


254  RODNEY   STONE. 

rades.  For  my  own  part  I  never  did  nor  could 
turn  my  thoughts  to  money-making." 

My  father  explained  that  I  had  been  under 
the  charge  of  the  famous  Sir  Charles  Tregellis, 
who  was  my  uncle,  and  with  whom  I  was  now 
residing. 

"  Then  you  need  no  help  from  me,"  said  Nel- 
son, with  some  bitterness.  "  If  you  have  either 
guineas  or  interest  you  can  climb  over  the  heads 
of  old  sea  officers,  though  you  may  not  know  the 
poop  from  the  galley,  or  a  carronade  from  a  long 
nine.  Nevertheless —  But  what  in  the  devil  have 
we  here  ?  " 

The  footman  had  suddenly  precipitated  him- 
self into  the  room,  but  stood  abashed  before  the 
fierce  glare  of  the  admiral's  eye. 

"  Your  lordship  told  me  to  rush  to  you  with 
it  if  it  should  come,"  he  explained,  holding  out  a 
large  blue  envelope. 

"  By  Heaven,  it  is  my  orders  !  "  cried  Nelson, 
snatching  it  up  and  fumbling  with  it  in  his  awk- 
ward, one-handed  attempt  to  break  the  seals. 
Lady  Hamilton  ran  to  his  assistance,  but  no 
sooner  had  she  glanced  at  the  paper  inclosed 
than  she  burst  into  a  shrill  scream,  and,  throw- 
ing up  her  hands  and  her  eyes,  she  sank  back- 
ward in  a  swoon.  I  could  not  but  observe, 
however,  that  her  fall  was  very  carefully  ex- 


LORD   NELSON. 


255 


ecuted,  and  that  she  was  fortunate  enough,  in 
spite  of  her  insensibility,  to  arrange  her  drapery 
and  attitude  into  a  graceful  and  classical  design. 
But  he,  the  honest  seaman,  so  incapable  of  deceit 
or  affectation  that  he  could  not  suspect  it  in 
others,  ran  madly  to  the  bell,  shouting  for  the 
maid,  the  doctor,  and  the  smelling  salts,  with 
incoherent  words  of  grief  and  such  passionate 
terms  of  emotion  that  my  father  thought  it 
more  discreet  to  twitch  me  by  the  sleeve  as  a 
signal  that  we  should  steal  out  of  the  room. 
There  we  left  him,  then,  in  the  dim-lit  London 
drawing  room,  beside  himself  with  pity  for  this 
shallow  and  most  artificial  woman,  while  without, 
at  the  edge  of  the  Piccadilly  curb,  there  stood 
the  high  dark  berlin  which  was  ready  to  start 
him  upon  that  long  journey,  which  was  to  end  in 
his  chase  of  the  French  fleet  over  seven  thousand 
miles  of  ocean,  his  meeting  with  it,  his  victory 
which  confined  Napoleon's  ambition  forever  to 
the  land,  and  his  death,  coming,  as  I  would  it 
might  come  to  all  of  us,  at  the  crowning  mo- 
ment of  his  life. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

ON  THE  ROAD. 

AND  now  the  day  of  the  great  fight  began  to 
approach.  Even  the  imminent  outbreak  of  war 
and  the  threats  of  Napoleon  were  secondary 
things  in  the  eyes  of  the  sportsmen — and  the 
sportsmen  in  those  days  made  a  large  half  of 
the  population.  In  the  club  of  the  Patrician  and 
the  Plebeian  gin  shop,  in  the  coffee  house  of  the 
merchant,  or  the  barrack  room  of  the  soldier 
in  London  or  the  provinces,  the  same  question 
was  interesting  the  whole  nation.  Every  west- 
country  coach  brought  up  word  of  the  fine  con- 
dition of  Crab  Wilson,  who  had  returned  to  his 
own  native  air  for  his  training,  and  was  known  to 
be  under  the  care  of  Captain  Barclay  the  expert. 
On  the  other  hand,  although  my  uncle  had  not 
yet  formally  named  his  man,  there  was  no  doubt 
among  the  public  that  Jim  was  to  be  his  nomi- 
nee, and  the  report  of  his  physique  and  of  his 

performance  found  him  many  backers.      On  the 

256 


ON   THE   ROAD. 


257 


whole,  however,  the  betting  remained  in  favour 
of  Wilson,  for  Bristol  and  the  west  country  stood 
by  him  to  a  man,  while  London  opinion  was 
divided.  Three  to  two  were  to  be  had  at  any 
West  End  club  two  days  before  the  battle. 

I  had  twice  been  down  to  Cravvley  to  see 
Jim  in  his  training  quarters,  where  I  found  him 
undergoing  the  severe  regimen  which  was  usual. 
From  early  dawn  until  nightfall  he  was  running, 
jumping,  striking  a  bladder  which  swung  from  a 
bar,  or  sparring  with  his  formidable  trainer.  His 
eyes  shone  and  his  skin  glowed  with  exuberant 
health,  and  he  was  so  confident  of  success  that 
my  own  misgivings  vanished  as  I  watched  his 
gallant  bearing  and  listened  to  his  quiet  and 
cheerful  words. 

"  But  I  wonder  that  you  should  come  and  see 
me  now,  Roddy,"  said  he  when  we  parted,  trying 
to  laugh  as  he  spoke.  "  I  have  become  a  bruiser, 
and  your  uncle's  paid  man,  while  you  are  a  Co- 
rinthian upon  town.  If  you  had  not  been  the 
best  and  truest  little  gentleman  in  the  world,  you 
would  have  been  my  patron  instead  of  my  friend 
before  now." 

When  I  looked  at  this  splendid  fellow,  with 
his  high-bred,  clean-cut  face,  and  thought  of  the 
fine  qualities  and  gentle,  generous  impulses  which 
I  knew  to  lie  within  him,  it  seemed  so  absurd 


258  RODNEY   STONE. 

that  he  should  speak  as  though  my  friendship 
toward  him  were  a  condescension  that  I  could 
not  help  laughing  aloud. 

"  That  is  all  very  well,  Rodney,"  said  he,  look- 
ing hard  into  my  eyes.  "  But  what  does  your 
uncle  think  about  it  ?  " 

This  was  a  poser,  and  I  could  only  answer 
lamely  enough  that,  much  as  I  was  indebted  to 
my  uncle,  I  had  known  Jim  first,  and  that  I 
was  surely  old  enough  to  choose  my  own 
friends. 

Jim's  misgivings  were  so  far  correct  that  my 
uncle  did  very  strongly  object  to  any  intimacy 
between  us,  but  there  were  so  many  other  points 
in  which  he  disapproved  of  my  conduct  that  it 
made  the  less  difference.  I  fear  that  he  was 
already  disappointed  in  me.  I  would  not  de- 
velop an  eccentricity,  although  he  was  good 
enough  to  point  out  several  by  which  I  might 
come  out  of  the  ruck,  as  he  expressed  it,  and 
so  catch  the  attention  of  the  strange  world  in 
which  he  lived. 

"  You  are  an  active  young  fellow,  nephew," 
said  he.  "  Do  you  not  think  that  you  could  en- 
gage to  climb  round  the  furniture  of  an  ordinary 
room  without  setting  foot  upon  the  ground  ? 
Some  little  tour  de  force  of  the  sort  is  in  excellent 
taste.  There  was  a  captain  in  the  Guards  who  at- 


ON   THE   ROAD.  259 

tained  considerable  social  success  by  doing  it  for 
a  small  wager.  Lady  Lievan,  who  is  exceedingly 
exigeant,  used  to  invite  him  to  her  evenings 
merely  that  he  might  exhibit  it." 

I  had  to  assure  him  that  the  feat  would  be  be- 
yond me. 

"  You  are  just  a  little  difficile,"  said  he,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders.  "  As  my  nephew,  you  might 
have  taken  your  position  by  perpetuating  my 
delicacy  of  taste.  If  you  had  made  le  mauvais 
gout  your  enemy,  the  world  of  fashion  would 
willingly  have  looked  upon  you  as  an  arbiter  by 
virtue  of  your  family  traditions,  and  you  might, 
without  a  struggle,  have  stepped  into  the  position 
to  which  this  young  upstart  Brummel  aspires. 
But  you  have  no  instinct  in  that  direction.  You 
are  incapable  of  minute  attention  to  detail.  Look 
at  your  shoes  !  Look  at  your  cravat !  Look  at 
your  watch-chain !  Two  links  are  enough  to 
show.  I  have  shown  three,  but  it  was  an  indis- 
cretion. At  this  moment  I  can  see  no  less  than 
five  of  yours.  I  regret  it,  nephew,  but  I  do  not 
think  that  you  are  destined  to  attain  that  position 
which  I  have  a  right  to  expect  from  my  blood 
relation." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  be  a  disappointment  to  you, 
sir,"  said  I. 

"  It  is  your  misfortune  not  to  have  come  under 


26o  RODNEY   STONE. 

my  influence  earlier,"  said  he.  "  I  might  then 
have  moulded  you  so  as  to  have  satisfied  even 
my  own  aspirations.  I  had  a  younger  brother 
whose  case  was  a  similar  one.  I  did  what  I  could 
for  him,  but  he  would  wear  ribbons  in  his  shoes, 
and  he  publicly  mistook  white  Burgundy  for 
Rhine  wine.  Eventually  the  poor  fellow  took  to 
books  and  lived  and  died  in  a  country  vicarage. 
He  was  a  good  man,  but  he  was  commonplace, 
and  there  is  no  place  in  society  for  commonplace 
people." 

"  Then  I  fear,  sir,  that  there  is  none  for  me," 
said  I.  "  But  my  father  has  every  hope  that 
Lord  Nelson  will  find  me  a  position  in  the  fleet. 
If  I  have  been  a  failure  in  town  I  am  none  the 
less  conscious  of  your  kindness  in  trying  to  ad- 
vance my  interests,  and  I  hope  that  should  I  re- 
ceive my  commission  I  may  be  a  credit  to  you 
yet." 

"  It  is  possible  that  you  may  attain  that  very 
spot  which  I  had  marked  out  for  you,  but  by  an- 
other road,"  said  my  uncle.  "  There  are  many 
men  in  town,  such  as  Lord  St.  Vincent,  Lord 
Hood,  and  others,  who  move  in  the  most  respect- 
able circles,  although  they  have  nothing  but  their 
services  in  the  navy  to  recommend  them." 

It  was  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  before  the 
fight  that  this  conversation  took  place  between 


ON   THE   ROAD.  26l 

my  uncle  and  myself  in  the  dainty  sanctum  of  his 
Jermyn  Street  house.  He  was  clad,  I  remember, 
in  his  flowing  brocade  dressing  gown,  as  was  his 
custom  before  he  set  out  for  his  club,  and  his  foot 
was  extended  upon  a  stool,  for  Abernethy  had 
just  been  in  to  treat  him  from  an  incipient  attack 
of  the  gout.  It  may  have  been  the  pain,  or  it 
may  have  been  his  disappointment  at  my  career, 
but  his  manner  was  more  testy  than  was  usual 
with  him,  and  I  fear  that  there  was  something 
of  a  sneer  in  his  smile  as  he  spoke  of  my 
deficiencies. 

For  my  own  part  I  was  relieved  at  the  ex- 
planation, for  my  father  had  left  London  in  the 
full  conviction  that  a  vacancy  would  be  speedily 
found  for  us  both,  and  the  one  thing  which  had 
weighed  upon  my  mind  was  that  I  might  have 
found  it  hard  to  leave  my  uncle  without  interfer- 
ing with  the  plans  which  he  had  formed.  I  was 
heart-weary  of  this  empty  life,  for  which  I  was  so 
ill-fashioned,  and  weary  also  of  that  intolerant 
talk  which  would  make  a  coterie  of  frivolous 
women  and  foolish  fops  the  central  point  of  the 
universe.  Something  of  my  uncle's  sneer  may 
have  flickered  upon  my  lips  as  I  heard  him  al- 
lude with  supercilious  surprise  to  the  presence  in 
those  sacro-sanct  circles  of  the  men  who  had  stood 
between  the  country  and  destruction. 


262  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  By  the  way,  nephew,"  said  he,  "  gout  or  no 
gout,  and  whether  Abernethy  likes  it  or  not,  we 
must  be  down  at  Crawley  to-night.  The  battle 
will  take  place  upon  Crawley  Downs.  Sir  Lo- 
thian Hume  and  his  man  are  at  Reigate.  I  have 
reserved  beds  at  the  George  for  both  of  us.  The 
crush  will,  it  is  said,  exceed  anything  ever  known. 
The  smell  of  these  country  inns  is  always  most 
offensive  to  me — mais,  que  voulez  vous  ?  Berke- 
ley Cravan  was  saying  in  the  club  last  night  that 
there  is  not  a  bed  within  twenty  miles  of  Crawley 
which  is  not  bespoke,  and  that  they  are  charging 
three  guineas  for  the  night.  I  hope  that  your 
young  friend,  if  I  must  describe  him  as  such, 
will  fulfil  the  promise  which  he  has  shown, 
for  I  have  rather  more  upon  the  event  than 
I  care  to  lose.  Sir  Lothian  has  been  plunging, 
also — he  made  a  single  bye-bet  of  five  thousand 
to  three  upon  Wilson  in  Limmer's  yesterday. 
From  what  I  hear  of  his  affairs  it  will  be  a 
serious  matter  for  him  if  we  should  pull  it  off. — 
Well,  Lorimer !  " 

"  A  person  to  see  you,  Sir  Charles,"  said  the 
new  valet. 

"  You  know  that  I  never  see  any  one  until  my 
dressing  is  complete." 

"  He  insists  upon  seeing  you,  sir.  He  pushed 
open  the  door." 


ON   THE   ROAD.  263 

"  Pushed  it  open  !  What  do  you  mean,  Lori- 
mer  ?  Why  didn't  you  throw  him  out  ?  " 

A  smile  passed  over  the  servant's  face.  At 
the  same  moment  there  came  a  deep  voice  from 
the  passage. 

"You  show  me  in  this  instant,  young  man! 
D'ye  hear  ?  Let  me  see  your  master,  or  it'll  be 
the  worse  for  you  !  " 

I  thought  that  I  had  heard  the  voice  before, 
but  when  over  the  shoulder  of  the  valet  I  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  large,  fleshy  bull  face,  with  a  flat- 
tened Michael  Angelo  nose  in  the  centre  of  it,  I 
knew  at  once  that  it  was  my  neighbour  at  the 
supper  party. 

"  It's  Warr,  the  prize-fighter,  sir,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  our  visitor,  pushing  his  huge 
form  into  the  room.  "  It's  Bill  Warr,  landlord  of 
the  One  Ton  public  house,  Jermyn  Street,  and 
the  gamest  man  upon  the  list.  There's  only  one 
thing  that  ever  beat  me,  Sir  Charles,  and  that  was 
my  flesh,  which  creeps  over  me  that  amazin'  fast 
that  I've  always  four  stone  that  has  no  business 
there.  Why,  sir,  I've  got  enough  to  spare  to 
make  a  featherweight  champion  out  of.  You'd 
hardly  think  to  look  at  me  that  even  after  Men- 
doza  fought  me  I  was  able  to  jump  the  four-foot 
ropes  at  the  ringside  just  as  light  as  a  little  kiddy, 

but  if  I  was  to  chuck  my  castor  into  the  ring  now 
18 


264  RODNEY   STONE. 

I'd  never  get  it  till  the  wind  blew  it  out  again,  for 
blow  my  dickey  if  I  could  climb  after ! — My  re- 
spects to  you,  young  sir,  and  I  hope  I  see  you 
well !  " 

My  uncle's  face  had  expressed  considerable 
disgust  at  this  invasion  of  his  privacy,  but  it  was 
part  of  his  position  to  be  on  good  terms  with  the 
fighting  men,  so  he  contented  himself  with  asking 
curtly  what  business  had  brought  him  there.  For 
answer  the  huge  prize-fighter  looked  meaningly 
at  the  valet. 

"  It's  important,  Sir  Charles,  and  between  man 
and  man,"  said  he. 

"  You  may  go,  Lorimer. — Now,  Warr,  what  is 
the  matter  ?  " 

The  bruiser  very  calmly  seated  himself  astride 
of  a  chair,  with  his  arms  resting  upon  the  back 
of  it. 

"  I've  got  information,  Sir  Charles,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  cried  my  uncle,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Information  of  value." 

"  Out  with  it,  then  !  " 

"  Information  that's  worth  money,"  said  Warr, 
and  pursed  up  his  lips. 

"  I  see — you  want  to  be  paid  for  what  you 
know  ?  " 

The  prize-fighter  smiled  an  affirmative. 


ON   THE   ROAD.  265 

"  Well,  I  don't  buy  things  on  trust.  You 
should  know  me  better  than  to  try  on  such  a  game 
with  me." 

"  I  know  you  for  what  you  are,  Sir  Charles, 
and  that  is  a  noble,  slap-up  Corinthian.  But  if  I 
was  to  use  this  against  you,  d'ye  see,  it  would  be 
worth  hundreds  in  my  pocket.  But  my  'eart 
won't  let  me  do  it,  for  Bill  Warr's  always  been  on 
the  side  o'  good  sport  and  fair  play.  If  I  use  it 
for  you  I  expects  that  you  won't  see  me  the 
loser." 

"  You  can  do  what  you  like,"  said  my  uncle. 
"  If  your  news  is  of  service  to  me,  I  shall  know 
how  to  treat  you." 

"  You  can't  say  fairer  than  that.  We'll  let  it 
stand  there,  gov'nor,  and  you'll  do  the  'andsome 
thing  as  you  'ave  always  'ad  the  name  of  doin'. 
Well,  then,  your  man,  Jim  'Arrison,  fights  Crab 
Wilson,  of  Gloucester,  on  Crawley  Down  to-mor- 
row mornin'  for  a  stake." 

"  What  of  that  ?  " 

"  Did  you  'appen  to  know  what  the  bettin'  was 
yesterday  ?  " 

"  It  was  three  to  two  on  Wilson." 

"Right  you  are,  gov'nor.  It's  seven  to  one 
against  your  man  to-day." 

"What?" 

"  Seven  to  one,  gov'nor ;  no  less." 


266  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  You're  talking  nonsense,  Warr !  How  could 
the  betting  change  from  three  to  two  to  seven  to 
one?" 

"  I've  been  to  Tom  Owen's,  and  I've  been  to 
the  'Ole  in  the  Wall,  and  I've  been  to  the  Wagon 
and  "Orses,  and  you  can  get  seven  to  one  in  any 
of  them.  There's  tons  of  money  being  laid  against 
your  man.  It's  a  'orse  to  a  'en  in  every  sportin' 
'ouse  and  boozin'  ken  from  'ere  to  Stepney." 

For  a  moment  the  expression  upon  my  uncle's 
face  made  me  realize  that  this  match  was  really 
a  serious  matter  to  him.  Then  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders  with  an  incredulous  smile. 

"  All  the  worse  for  the  fools  who  give  the 
odds,"  said  he.  "  My  man  is  all  right.  You  saw 
him  yesterday,  nephew  ?  " 

"  He  was  all  right  yesterday,  sir." 

"  If  anything  had  gone  wrong  I  should  have 
heard." 

"  But  perhaps,"  said  Warr  meaningly,  "  it  'as 
not  gone  wrong  with  'im  yet." 

"  What  d'you  mean  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  mean,  sir.  You  remem- 
ber Berks?  You  know  that  he  ain't  to  be  much 
depended  upon  at  any  time,  and  that  he  had  a 
grudge  against  your  man  'cause  he  laid  'im  out  in 
the  coach  house.  Well,  last  night,  about  ten 
o'clock,  in  he  comes  into  my  bar,  and  the  three 


ON  THE   ROAD. 


267 


bloodiest  rogues  in  London  at  'is  'eels.  There 
was  Red  Ike,  'im  that  was  warned  off  the  ring 
'cause  'e  fought  a  cross  with  Bittoon.  And  there 
was  Fightin'  Yussef,  who  would  sell  his  mother 
for  a  seven-shillin'  bit.  The  third  was  Chris  Mc- 
Carthy, who  is  a  fogle-snatcher  by  trade  with  a 
pitch  outside  the  Haymarket  Theatre.  You  don't 
often  see  four  such  beauties  together,  and  all 
with  as  much  as  they  could  carry,  save  only  Chris, 
who  is  too  leary  a  cove  to  drink  when  there's 
somethin'  goin'  forward.  For  my  part  I  showed 
them  into  the  parlour,  not  'cos  they  was  worthy 
of  it,  but  'cos  I  knew  right  well  they  would  start 
bashin'  some  of  my  customers  and  maybe  get  my 
license  into  trouble  if  I  left  'em  in  the  bar.  I 
served  'em  with  drink  and  staid  with  'em  just 
to  see  that  they  didn't  lay  their  'ands  on  the 
stuffed  paroquet  and  the  pictures. 

"  Well,  gov'nor,  to  cut  it  short,  they  began  to 
talk  about  the  fight,  and  they  all  laughed  at  the 
idea  that  young  Jim  'Arrison  could  win  it — all 
except  Chris,  and  'e  kept  a-nudgin'  and  a-twitchin' 
at  the  others  until  Joe  Berks  nearly  gave  him  a 
wipe  across  the  face  for  his  trouble.  I  saw  some- 
thin'  was  in  the  wind,  and  it  wasn't  very  'ard  to 
guess  what  it  was,  especially  when  Red  Ike  was 
ready  to  put  up  a  fiver  that  Jim  'Arrison  would 
never  fight  at  all.  So  1  up  to  get  another  bottle 


268  RODNEY   STONE. 

of  liptrap  and  I  slipped  round  to  the  shutter  that 
we  pass  the  liquor  through  from  the  private  bar 
into  the  parlour.  I  drew  it  an  inch  open,  and  I 
might  'ave  been  at  the  table  with  them  I  could 
'ear  every  word  that  clearly. 

"  There  was  Chris  McCarthy  growlin'  at  them 
for  not  keepin'  their  tongues  still,  and  there  was 
Joe  Berks  swearin'  that  'e  would  knock  'is  face  in 
if  'e  dared  give  'im  any  of  'is  lip.  So  Chris  'e 
sort  of  argued  with  'em,  for  'e  was  frightened  of 
Berks,  and  'e  put  it  to  them  whether  they  would 
be  fit  for  the  job  in  the  mornin',  and  whether  the 
gov'nor  would  pay  the  money  if  'e  found  they  'ad 
been  drinkin',  and  were  not  to  be  trusted.  This 
struck  them  sober,  all  three,  and  Fightin'  Yussef 
asked  what  time  the}'  were  to  start.  Chris  said 
that  as  long  as  they  were  at  Crawley  before  the 
George  shut  up  they  could  work  it.  '  It's  poor 
pay  for  a  chance  of  a  rope ! '  said  Red  Ike. 
'  Rope  be  damned ! '  cried  Chris,  taking  a  little 
loaded  stick  out  of  'is  side  pocket.  '  If  three  of 
you  'old  'im  down  and  I  break  'is  arm-bone  with 
this,  we've  earned  our  money,  and  we  don't  risk 
more'n  six  months'  skilly  and  crank.'  '  He'll 
fight,'  said  Berks.  '  Well,  it's  the  only  fight  'e'll 
get,'  said  Chris.  And  that  was  all  I  'card  of  it. 
This  mornin'  out  I  went,  and  I  found,  as  I  told 
you,  that  the  money  is  goin'  on  to  Wilson  by  the 


ON   THE   ROAD.  269 

ton,  and  that  no  odds  are  too  long  for  the  layers. 
So  it  stands,  gov'nor,  and  you  know  what  the 
meanin"  of  it  may  be  better  than  Bill  Warr  can 
tell  you." 

"  Very  good,  Warr,"  said  my  uncle,  rising. 
"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  telling  me 
this,  and  I  will  see  that  you  are  not  a  loser  by  it. 
I  put  it  down  as  the  gossip  of  drunken  ruffians, 
but  none  the  less  you  have  served  me  vastly  by 
calling  my  attention  to  it.  I  suppose  I  shall  see 
you  at  the  Downs  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Jackson  'as  asked  me  to  be  one  o'  the 
beaters-out,  sir." 

"  Very  good.  I  hope  that  we  shall  have  a  fair 
and  good  fight.  Good  day  to  you,  and  thank 
you." 

My  uncle  had  preserved  his  jaunty  demeanour 
as  long  as  Warr  was  in  the  room,  but  the  door 
had  hardly  closed  upon  him  before  he  turned  to 
me  with  a  face  which  was  more  agitated  than  I 
had  ever  seen  it. 

"  We  must  be  off  for  Crawley  at  once,  nephew," 
said  he,  ringing  the  bell.  "  There's  not  a  moment 
to  be  lost. — Lorimer,  order  the  bays  to  be  har- 
nessed in  the  curricle.  Put  the  toilet  things  in, 
and  tell  William  to  have  it  round  at  the  door  as 
soon  as  possible." 

"  I'll  see  to  it,  sir,"  said  I,  and  away  I  ran  to 


270  RODNEY   STONE. 

the  mews  in  Little  Ryder  Street,  where  my  uncle 
stabled  his  horses.  The  groom  was  away,  and  I 
had  to  send  a  lad  in  search  of  him,  while  with  the 
help  of  the  liveryman  I  dragged  the  curricle 
from  the  coach  house  and  brought  the  two  mares 
out  of  their  stalls.  It  was  half  an  hour,  or  possi- 
bly three  quarters,  before  everything  had  been 
found,  and  Lorimer  was  already  waiting  in  Jer- 
myn  Street  with  the  inevitable  baskets,  while  my 
uncle  stood  in  the  open  door  of  his  house  clad  in 
his  long  fawn-coloured  driving  coat,  with  no  sign 
upon  his  calm  face  of  the  tumult  of  impatience 
which  must,  I  was  sure,  be  raging  within. 

"  We  shall  leave  you,  Lorimer,"  said  he.  "  We 
might  find  it  hard  to  get  a  bed  for  you.  Keep  at 
her  head,  William! — Jump  in,  nephew. — Hullo, 
Warr !  what  is  the  matter  now  ?  " 

The  prize-fighter  was  hastening  toward  us  as 
fast  as  his  bulk  would  allow. 

"Just  one  word  before  you  go,  Sir  Charles," 
he  panted.  "  I've  just  'card  in  my  tap  room  that 
the  four  men  I  spoke  of  left  for  Crawley  at  one 
o'clock." 

"  Very  good,  Warr,"  said  my  uncle,  with  his 
foot  upon  the  step. 

"  And  the  odds  have  risen  to  ten  to  one." 

"  Let  go  her  head,  William  ! " 

44  Just  one  more  word,  gov'nor.     You'll  excuse 


ON   THE    ROAD. 


2/1 


the  liberty,  but  if  I  was  you  I'd  take  my  pistols 
with  me." 

"  Thank  you.  I  have  them."  The  long  thong 
cracked  between  the  ears  of  the  leader,  the  groom 
sprang  for  the  pavement,  and  Jermyn  Street  had 
changed  for  St.  James,  and  that  again  for  White- 
hall with  a  swiftness  which  showed  that  the  gal- 
lant mares  were  as  impatient  as  their  master.  It 
was  4.30  by  the  Parliament  clock  as  we  flew  onto 
Westminster  bridge.  There  was  the  flash  of 
water  beneath  us,  and  then  we  were  between 
those  two  long  dun-coloured  lines  of  houses  which 
had  been  the  avenue  which  had  led  up  to  Lon- 
don. My  uncle  sat  with  tightened  lips  and  a 
brooding  brow.  We  had  reached  Streathom  be- 
fore he  broke  the  silence. 

"  I  have  a  good  deal  at  stake,  nephew," 
said  he. 

"  So  have  I,  sir,"  I  answered. 

"  You  !  "  he  cried,  in  surprise. 

"  My  friend,  sir." 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  had  forgot.  You  have  some  ec- 
centricities, after  all,  nephew.  You  are  a  faithful 
friend,  which  is  a  rare  enough  thing  in  our  cir- 
cles. I  never  had  but  one  friend  of  my  own 
position,  and  he — but  you've  heard  me  tell  the 
story.  I  fear  it  will  be  dark  before  we  reach 
Crawley." 


272  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  I  fear  that  it  will." 

"  In  that  case  we  may  be  too  late." 

"  Pray  God  not,  sir ! " 

"  We  sit  behind  the  best  cattle  in  England, 
but  I  fear  lest  we  find  the  roads  blocked  before 
we  get  to  Crawley.  Did  you  observe,  nephew, 
that  these  four  villains  spoke  in  Warr's  hearing 
of  the  master  who  was  behind  them,  and  who  was 
paying  them  for  their  infamy  ?  Did  you  not  un- 
derstand that  they  were  hired  to  cripple  my  man  ? 
Who,  then,  could  have  hired  them?  Who  had 
an  interest  unless  it  was —  I  know  Sir  Lothian 
Hume  to  be  a  desperate  man.  I  know  that  he 
has  had  heavy  card  losses  at  Watier's  and  White's. 
I  know  also  that  he  has  much  at  stake  upon  this 
event,  and  that  he  has  plunged  upon  it  with  a 
rashness  which  made  his  friends  think  that  he  had 
some  private  reason  for  being  satisfied  as  to  the 
result.  By  Heaven !  It  all  hangs  together !  If 
it  should  be  so !  "  He  relapsed  into  silence,  but  I 
saw  the  same  look  of  cold  fierceness  settle  upon 
his  features  which  I  had  marked  there  when  he 
and  Sir  John  Lade  had  raced  wheel  to  wheel 
down  the  Godstone  road. 

The  sun  sank  slowly  toward  the  low  Surrey 
hills,  and  the  shadows  crept  steadily  eastward,  but 
the  whirr  of  the  wheels  and  the  roar  of  the  hoofs 
never  slackened.  A  fresh  wind  blew  upon  our 


ON   THE   ROAD.  273 

faces,  while  the  young  leaves  drooped  motionless 
from  the  wayside  branches.  The  golden  edge  of 
the  sun  was  just  sinking  behind  the  oaks  of  Rei- 
gate  Hill  when  the  dripping  mares  drew  up  before 
the  Crown  at  Redhill.  The  landlord,  an  old 
sportsman  and  ring-sider,  ran  out  to  greet  so  well- 
known  a  Corinthian  as  Sir  Charles  Tregellis. 

"  You  know  Berks,  the  bruiser  ? "  asked  my 
uncle. 

"  Yes,  Sir  Charles." 

"  Has  he  passed?" 

"  Yes,  Sir  Charles.  It  may  have  been  about 
four  o'clock,  though  with  this  crowd  of  folk  and 
carriages  it's  hard  to  swear  to  it.  There  was  him 
and  Red  Ike  and  Fighting  Yussef,  the  Jew,  and 
another,  with  a  good  bit  of  blood  betwixt  the 
shafts.  They'd  been  driving  her  hard,  too,  for 
she  was  all  in  a  lather." 

"  That's  ugly,  nephew,"  said  my  uncle,  when 
we  were  flying  onward  toward  Reigate.  "If 
they  drove  so  hard  it  looks  as  though  they  wished 
to  get  early  to  work." 

"  Jim  and  Belcher  would  surely  be  a  match 
for  the  four  of  them,"  I  suggested. 

"  If  Belcher  were  with  him  I  should  have  no 
fear.  But  you  can  not  tell  what  diablerie  they 
may  be  up  to.  Let  us  only  find  him  safe  and 
sound,  and  I'll  never  lose  sight  of  him  till  I  see 


274  RODNEY   STONE. 

him  in  the  ring.  We'll  sit  up  on  guard,  with  our 
pistols,  nephew,  and  I  only  trust  that  these  vil- 
lains may  be  indiscreet  enough  to  attempt  it. 
But  they  must  have  been  very  sure  of  success 
before  they  put  the  odds  up  to  such  a  figure, 
and  it  is  that  which  alarms  me." 

"  But  surely  they  have  nothing  to  win  by  such 
villainy,  sir  ?  If  they  were  to  hurt  Jim  Harrison 
the  battle  could  not  be  fought  and  the  bets  would 
not  be  decided." 

"  So  it  would  be  in  an  ordinary  prize  battle, 
nephew,  and  it  is  fortunate  that  it  should  be  so, 
or  the  rascals  who  infest  the  ring  would  soon 
make  all  sport  impossible.  But  here  it  is  differ- 
ent. On  the  terms  of  the  wager  I  lose  unless  I 
can  produce  a  man  within  the  prescribed  ages 
who  can  beat  Crab  Wilson..  You  must  remem- 
ber that  I  have  never  named  my  man.  C'est 
dommage,  but  so  it  is !  We  know  who  it  is, 
and  so  do  our  opponents,  but  the  referees  and 
stakeholders  would  take  no  notice  of  that.  If 
we  complain  that  Jim  Harrison  has  been  crippled, 
they  would  answer  that  they  have  no  official 
knowledge  that  Jim  Harrison  was  our  nominee. 
It's  play  or  pay,  and  the  villains  are  taking  ad- 
vantage of  it." 

My  uncle's  fears  as  to  our  being  blocked  upon 
the  road  were  only  too  well  founded,  for  after  we 


ON   THE   ROAD. 


275 


passed  Reigate  there  was  such  a  procession  ot 
every  sort  of  vehicle  that  I  believe  for  the  whole 
eight  miles  there  was  not  a  horse  whose  nose 
was  farther  than  a  few  feet  from  the  back  of 
the  curricle  or  barouche  in  front.  Every  road 
leading  from  London,  as  well  as  those  from 
Guildford  in  the  west  and  Tunbridge  in  the 
east,  had  contributed  their  stream  of  four-in- 
hands,  gigs,  and  mounted  sportsmen,  until  the 
whole  broad  Brighton  highway  was  choked  from 
ditch  to  ditch  with  a  laughing,  singing,  shouting 
throng,  all  flowing  in  the  same  direction.  No 
man  who  looked  upon  that  motley  crowd  could 
deny  that  for  good  or  evil  the  love  of  the  ring 
was  confined  to  no  class,  but  was  a  national  pe- 
culiarity, deeply  seated  in  the  English  nature, 
and  a  common  heritage  of  the  young  aristocrat 
in  his  drag  and  of  the  rough  costers  sitting  six 
deep  in  their  pony-cart. 

There  I  saw  statesmen  and  soldiers,  noblemen 
and  lawyers,  farmers  and  squires,  with  roughs  of 
the  East  End  and  yokels  of  the  shires,  all  toiling 
along  with  the  prospect  of  a  night  of  discomfort 
before  them,  on  the  chance  of  seeing  a  fight, 
which  might,  for  all  that  they  knew,  be  decided 
in  a  single  round.  A  more  cheery  and  hearty  set 
of  people  could  not  be  imagined,  and  the  chaff 
flew  about  as  thick  as  the  dust  clouds,  while 


276  RODNEY   STONE. 

at  every  wayside  inn  the  landlord  and  the 
drawers  would  be  out  with  trays  of  foam- 
headed  tankards  to  moisten  those  importunate 
throats.  The  ale-drinking,  the  rude  good-fel- 
lowship, the  heartiness,  the  laughter  at  discom- 
forts, the  craving  to  see  the  fight,  all  these 
may  be  set  down  as  vulgar  and  trivial  by 
those  to  whom  they  are  distasteful,  but  to  me, 
listening  to  the  far-off  and  uncertain  echoes  of 
our  distant  past,  they  seem  to  have  been  the 
very  bones  upon  which  much  that  is  most  solid 
and  virile  in  this  ancient  race  was  moulded. 

But,  alas  for  our  chance  of  hastening  on- 
ward !  Even  my  uncle's  skill  could  not  pick 
a  passage  through  that  moving  mass.  We 
could  but  fall  into  our  places  and  be  content 
to  snail  along  from  Reigate  to  Horley  and 
on  to  Povey  Cross,  and  over  Lowfield  Heath, 
while  day  shaded  away  into  twilight  and  that 
deepened  into  night.  At  Kimberham  bridge 
the  carriage  lamps  were  all  lit,  and  it  was 
wonderful  where  the  road  curved  downward 
before  us  to  see  this  writhing  serpent  with 
the  golden  scales  crawling  before  us  in  the 
darkness.  And  then  at  last  we  saw  the  form- 
less mass  of  the  huge  Crawley  Elm  looming 
before  us  in  the  gloom,  and  there  was  the 
broad  village  street  with  the  glimmer  of  the 


ON   THE   ROAD. 


277 


cottage  windows,  and  the  high  front  of  the 
old  George  Inn  glowing  from  every  door  and 
pane  and  crevice  in  honour  of  the  noble  com- 
pany who  were  to  sleep  within  that  night. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

FOUL   PLAY. 

MY  uncle's  impatience  would  not  suffer  him 
to  wait  for  the  slow  rotation  which  would  bring 
us  to  the  door,  but  he  flung  the  reins  and  a  crown 
piece  to  one  of  the  rough  fellows  who  thronged 
the  sidewalk,  and  pushing  his  way  vigorously 
through  the  crowd  he  made  for  the  entrance.  As 
he  came  within  the  circle  of  light  thrown  by  the 
windows  a  whisper  ran  around  as  to  who  this 
masterful  gentleman  with  the  pale  face  and  the 
driving  coat  might  be,  and  a  lane  was  formed  to 
admit  us.  I  had  never  before  understood  the 
popularity  of  my  uncle  in  the  sporting  world,  for 
the  folk  began  to  huzza  as  we  passed,  with  cries 
of  "  Hurrah  for  Bock  Tregellis !— Good  luck  to 
you  and  your  man,  Sir  Charles ! — Clear  a  path 
for  a  bang-up  noble  Corinthian !  "  while  the  land- 
lord, attracted  by  the  shouting,  came  running  out 
to  greet  us. 

"  Good  evening,  Sir  Charles  !  "  he  cried.     "  I 

278 


A  lane  was  formed  to  admit  us. 


FOUL   PLAY.  279 

hope  I  see  you  well,  sir,  and  I  trust  that  you  will 
find  that  your  man  does  credit  to  the  George." 

"  How  is  he  ?  "  asked  my  uncle,  quickly. 

"  Never  better,  sir.  Looks  a  picture,  he  does 
— and  fit  to  fight  for  a  kingdom." 

My  uncle  gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He's  gone  to  his  room,  early,  sir,  seein'  that 
he  had  some  very  partic'lar  business  to-morrow 
mornin',"  said  the  landlord,  grinning. 

"Where  is  Belcher?" 

"  Here  he  is,  sir,  in  the  bar  parlour." 

He  opened  a  door  as  he,spoke,  and  looking 
in  we  saw  a  score  of  well-dressed  men,  some  of 
whose  faces  had  become  familiar  to  me  during 
my  short  West  End  career,  seated  round  a  table, 
upon  which  stood  a  steaming  soup  tureen  filled 
with  punch.  At  the  farther  end,  very  much  at  his 
ease  among  the  aristocrats  and  exquisites  who 
surrounded  him,  sat  the  champion  of  England, 
his  superb  figure  thrown  back  in  his  chair,  a  flush 
upon  his  handsome  face,  and  a  loose  red  hand- 
kerchief knotted  carelessly  round  his  throat  in 
the  picturesque  fashion  which  was  long  known 
by  his  name.  Half  a  century  has  passed  since 
then,  and  I  have  seen  my  share  of  fine  men.  Per- 
haps it  is  because  I  am  a  slight  creature  myself, 
but  it  is  my  peculiarity  ;  I  had  rather  look  upon  a 
19 


28o  RODNEY   STONE. 

splendid  man  than  upon  any  work  of  Nature.  Yet 
during  all  that  time  I  have  never  seen  a  finer  man 
than  Jem  Belcher,  and  if  I  wish  to  match  him  in 
my  memory  I  can  only  turn  to  that  other  Jim 
Whose  fate  and  fortunes  I  am  trying  to  lay  before 
you. 

There  was  a  shout  of  jovial  greeting  when  my 
uncle's  face  was  seen  in  the  doorway. 

"  Come  in,  Tregellis !  We  were  expecting 
you ! — There's  a  devilled  bladebone  ordered. 
— What's  the  latest  from  London  ? — What  is  the 
meaning  of  the  long  odds  against  your  man  ? — 
Have  the  folk  gone  mad  ? — What  the  devil  is  it 
all  about  ?  "  They  were  all  talking  at  once. 

"  Excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  my  uncle  answered. 
"  I  shall  be  happy  to  give  you  any  information 
in  my  power  a  little  later.  I  have  a  matter  of 
some  slight  importance  to  decide. — Belcher,  I 
would  have  a  word  with  you  !  " 

The  champion  came  with  us  into  the  passage. 

"  Where  is  your  man,  Belcher  ?  " 

"  He  has  gone  to  his  room,  sir.  I  believe  that 
he  should  have  a  clear  twelve  hours'  sleep  before 
fighting." 

"  What  sort  of  day  has  he  had  ?  " 

"  I  did  him  lightly  in  the  matter  of  exercise. 
Clubs,  dumbbells,  walking,  and  a  half  hour  with 
the  mufflers.  He'll  do  us  all  proud,  sir,  or  I'm  a 


FOUL   PLAY.  28l 

Dutchman  !  But  what  in  the  world's  amiss  with 
the  betting  ?  If  I  didn't  know  that  he  was  as 
straight  as  a  line,  I'd  V  thought  he  was  planning 
a  cross  and  laying  against  himself." 

"  It's  about  that  I've  hurried  down.  I  have 
good  information,  Belcher,  that  there  has  been  a 
plot  to  cripple  him,  and  that  the  rogues  are  so 
sure  of  success  that  they  are  prepared  to  lay  any- 
thing against  his  appearance." 

Belcher  whistled  between  his  teeth. 

"  I've  seen  no  sign  of  anything  of  the  kind,  sir. 
No  one  has  been  near  him,  or  had  speech  with 
him,  except  only  your  nephew  there  and  myself." 

"  Four  villains  with  Berks  at  their  head  got 
the  start  of  us  by  several  hours.  It  was  Warr 
who  told  me." 

"What  Bill  Warr  says  is  straight,  and  what 
Joe  Berks  does  is  crooked.  Who  were  the 
others,  sir  ?  " 

"  Red  Ike,  Fighting  Yussef,  and  Chris  Mc- 
Carthy." 

"  A  pretty  gang,  too  !  Well,  sir,  the  lad  is 
safe,  but  it  would  be  as  well  perhaps  for  one  or 
other  of  us  to  stay  in  his  room  with  him.  For 
my  own  part,  as  long  as  he's  my  charge  I'm  never 
very  far  away." 

"  It  is  a  pity  to  wake  him." 

"  He  can  hardly  be  asleep  with  all  this  racket 


2g2  RODNEY   STONE. 

in  the  house.  This  way,  sir,  and  down  the  pas- 
sage !  " 

We  passed  along  the  low-roofed  devious  cor- 
ridors of  the  old-fashioned  inn  to  the  back  of  the 
house. 

"  This  is  my  room,  sir,"  said  Belcher,  nodding 
to  a  door  upon  the  right.  "  This  one  upon  the 
left  is  his."  He  threw  it  open  as  he  spoke. 
"  Here's  Sir  Charles  Tregellis  come  to  see  you, 
Jim,"  said  he — and  then,  "  Good  Lord  !  what  is 
the  meaning  of  this?" 

The  little  chamber  lay  before  us,  brightly  illu- 
minated by  a  brass  lamp,  which  stood  upon  the 
table.  The  bedclothes  had  not  been  turned 
down,  but  there  was  an  indentation  upon  the 
counterpane  which  showed  that  some  one  had 
lain  there.  One  half  of  the  lattice  window  was 
swinging  on  its  hinge,  and  a  cloth  cap,  lying 
upon  the  table,  was  the  only  sign' of  the  occupant. 
My  uncle  looked  round  him  and  shook  his  head. 

"  It  seems  that  we  are  too  late,"  said  he. 

"  That's  his  cap,  sir.  Where  in  the  world  can 
he  have  gone  to  with  his  head  bare?  I  thought 
he  was  safe  in  his  bed  an  hour  ago. — Jim  !  Jim  ! " 
he  shouted. 

"  He  has  certainly  gone  through  the  window," 
cried  my  uncle.  "  I  believe  these  villains  have 
enticed  him  out  by  some  devilish  device  of  their 


FOUL   PLAY.  283 

own. — Hold  the  lamp,  nephew  ! — Ha,  I  thought 
so !  Here  are  his  footmarks  upon  the  flower  bed 
outside ! " 

The  landlord  and  one  or  two  of  the  Corin- 
thians from  the  bar  parlour  had  followed  us  to 
the  back  of  the  house.  Some  one  had  opened 
the  side  door,  and  we  found  ourselves  in  the  kit- 
chen garden,  where,  clustering  upon  the  gravel 
path,  we  were  able  to  hold  the  lamp  over  the 
soft  newly  turned  earth  which  lay  between  us 
and  the  window. 

"  That's  his  footmark !  "  cried  Belcher.  "  He 
wore  his  running  boots  this  evening,  and  you  can 
see  the  nails.  But  what's  this  ?  Some  one  else 
has  been  here." 

"  A  woman  !  "  I  cried. 

"  By  Heaven,  you  are  right,  Rodney !  "  said 
my  uncle. 

Belcher  gave  a  hearty  curse. 

"  He  never  had  a  word  to  say  to  any  girl  in 
the  village.  I  took  partic'lar  notice  of  that. 
And  to  think  of  them  coming  in  like  this  at  the 
last  moment !  " 

"  It's  clear  as  possible,  Tregellis,"  said  the 
Honourable  Berkeley  Craven,  who  was  one  of 
the  company  from  the  bar  parlour.  "  Whoever 
it  was  came  outside  the  window  and  tapped. 
You  see  here  and  here  the  small  feet  have  their 


RODNEY  STONE. 

toes  to  the  house,  while  the  others  are  all  leading 
away.  She  came  to  summon  him,  and  he  fol- 
lowed her." 

"  That  is  perfectly  certain,"  said  my  uncle. 
"  There's  not  a  moment  to  be  lost.  We  must 
divide  and  search  in  different  directions,  unless 
we  can  get  some  clew  as  to  where  they  have 
gone." 

"There's  only  this  one  path  out  of  the  gar- 
den," cried  the  landlord,  leading  the  way.  "  It 
opens  out  into  this  back  lane,  which  leads  up  to 
the  stables.  The  other  end  of  the  lane  goes  out 
into  the  side  road." 

The  bright  yellow  glare  from  a  stable  lantern 
cut  a  ring  suddenly  from  the  darkness,  and  an 
ostler  came  lounging  out  of  the  yard. 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  cried  the  landlord. 

"  It's  me,  master,  Bill  Shields." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  there,  Bill?" 

"  Well,  master,  I've  been  in  an  '  out  of  the 
stable  this  hour  back.  We  can't  pack  in  another 
'orse,  and  there's  no  use  tryin'.  I  daren't  'ardly 
give  them  their  feed,  for  if  they  was  to  thicken 
out  just  ever  so  little " 

•*  See  here,  Bill !  Be  careful  bow  you  answer, 
for  a  mistake  may  cost  you  your  place.  Have 
you  seen  any  one  pass  down  the  lane  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  fellow  in  a  rabbit-skin  cap  some 


FOUL  PLAY. 


285 


time  ago.  'E  was  loiterin'  about,  until  I  asked 
'im  what  'is  business  was,  for  I  didn't  care  about 
the  looks  of  'im,  or  the  way  that  'e  was  peepin'  in 
at  the  windows.  I  turned  the  stable  lantern  onto 
'im,  but  'e  ducked  'is  face,  an*  I  could  only  swear 
to  'is  red  'ead." 

I  cast  a  quick  glance  at  my  uncle,  and  I  saw 
that  the  shadow  had  deepened  upon  his  face. 

"  What  became  of  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  'E  slouched  away,  sir,  an'  I  saw  the  last  of 
fim." 

"You've  seen  no  one  else?  You  didn't,  for 
example,  see  a  woman  and  a  man  pass  down  the 
lane  together  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Or  hear  anything  unusual  ?  " 

"  Why,  now  that  you  mention  it,  sir,  I  did  'ear 
somethin',  but  on  a  night  like  this,  when  all  these 
London  blades  are  in  the  village " 

"  What  was  it,  then  ?  "  cried  my  uncle,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Well,  sir,  it  was  a  kind  of  a  cry  out  yonder, 
as  if  some  one  'ad  got  'imself  into  trouble.  I 
thought  maybe  two  sparks  were  fightin',  and  I 
took  no  partic'lar  notice." 

"  Where  did  it  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  the  side  road  yonder." 

"Was  it  distant?" 


286  RODNEY   STONE. 

"No,  sir;  I  should  say  it  didn't  come  from 
more'n  two  hundred  yards." 

"  A  single  cry  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  was  a  kind  of  a  screech,  sir ;  and 
then  I  'card  somebody  drivin'  very  'ard  down  the 
road.  I  remember  thinkin'  that  it  was  strange 
that  any  one  should  be  drivin'  away  from  Craw- 
ley  on  a  great  night  like  this." 

My  uncle  seized  the  lantern  from  the  fellow's 
hand,  and  we  all  trooped  behind  him  down  the 
lane.  At  the  farther  end  the  road  cut  it  across 
at  right  angles.  Down  this  my  uncle  hastened, 
but  his  search  was  not  a  long  one,  for  the  glaring 
light  fell  suddenly  upon  something  which  brought 
a  groan  to  my  lips  and  a  bitter  curse  to  those  of 
Belcher.  Along  the  white  surface  of  the  dusty 
highway  there  was  drawn  a  long  smear  of  crim- 
son, while  beside  this  ominous  stain  there  lay  a 
murderous  little  pocket  bludgeon,  such  as  Warr 
had  described  in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

CRAWLEY   DOWNS. 

ALL  through  that  w.eary  night  my  uncle  and 
I,  with  Belcher,  Berkeley  Craven,  and  a  dozen  of 
the  Corinthians,  searched  the  countryside  for 
some  trace  of  our  missing  man,  but  save  for  that 
ill-boding  splash  upon  the  road,  not  the  slightest 
clew  could  be  obtained  as  to  what  had  befallen 
him.  No  one  had  seen  or  heard  anything  of  him, 
and  the  single  cry  in  the  night  of  which  the  ostler 
told  us  was  the  only  indication  of  the  tragedy 
which  had  taken  place.  In  small  parties  we 
scoured  the  country  as  far  as  East  Grinstead.  and 
Bletchingly,  and  the  sun  had  been  long  over  the 
horizon  before  we  found  ourselves  back  at  Craw- 
ley  once  more,  with  heavy  hearts  and  tired  feet. 
My  uncle,  who  had  driven  to  Reigate  in  the 
hope  of  gaining  some  intelligence,  did  not  re- 
turn until  past  seven  o'clock,  and  a  glance  at  his 
face  gave  us  the  same  black  news  which  he  gath- 
ered from  ours. 

287 


288  RODNEY   STONE. 

We  held  a  council  round  our  dismal  breakfast 
table,  to  which  Mr.  Berkeley  Craven  was  invited 
as  a  man  of  sound  wisdom  and  large  experience 
in  matters  of  sport.  Belcher  was  half  frenzied  by 
this  sudden  ending  of  all  the  pains  which  he  had 
taken  in  the  training,  and  could  only  rave  out 
threats  at  Berks  and  his  companions,  with  terrible 
menaces  as  to  what  he  would  do  when  he  met 
them.  My  uncle  sat  grave  and  thoughtful,  eating 
nothing  and  drumming  his  fingers  upon  the  table, 
while  my  heart  was  heavy  within  me,  and  I  could 
have  sunk  my  face  into  my  hands  and  burst  into 
tears  as  I  thought  how  powerless  I  was  to  aid 
my  friend.  Mr.  Craven,  a  fresh-faced,  alert  man 
of  the  world,  was  the  only  one  of  us  who  seemed 
to  preserve  both  his  wits  and  his  appetite. 

"•  Let  me  see !  The  fight  was  to  be  at  ten,  was 
it  not?"  he  asked. 

"  It  was  to  be." 

"  I  dare  say  it  will  be,  too.  Never  say  die, 
Tregellis !  Your  man  has  still  three  hours  in 
which  to  come  back." 

My  uncle  shook  his  head. 

"  The  villains  have  done  their  work  too  well 
for  that,  I  fear,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  now,  let  us  reason  it  out,"  said  Berke- 
ley Craven.  "  A  woman  comes  and  she  coaxes 
this  young  man  out  of  his  room.  Do  you  know 


CRAWLEY   DOWNS.  289 

any  young  woman  who  had  an  influence  over 
him  ?  " 

My  uncle  looked  at  me. 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  I  know  of  none." 

"  Well,  we  know  that  she  came,"  said  Berkeley 
Craven.  "  There  can  be  no  question  as  to  that. 
She  brought  some  piteous  tale,  no  doubt,  such  as 
a  gallant  young  man  could  hardly  refuse  to  listen 
to.  He  fell  into  the  trap  and  allowed  himself  to 
be  decoyed  to  the  place  where  these  rascals  were 
waiting  for  him.  We  may  take  all  that  as  proved, 
I  should  fancy,  Tregellis." 

"  I  see  no  better  explanation,"  said  my  uncle. 

"  Well,  then,  it  is  obviously  not  the  interest  of 
these  men  to  kill  him.  Warr  heard  them  say  as 
much.  They  could  not  make  sure,  perhaps,  of 
doing  so  tough  a  young  fellow  an  injury  which 
would  certainly  prevent  him  from  fighting.  Even 
with  a  broken  arm  he  might  pull  the  fight  off,  as 
men  have  done  before.  There  was  too  much 
money  on  for  them  to  run  any  risks.  They  gave 
him  a  tap  on  the  head,  therefore,  to  prevent  his 
making  too  much  resistance,  and  they  then  drove 
him  off  to  some  farmhouse  or  stable,  where  they 
will  hold  him  a  prisoner  until  the  time  for  the 
fight  is  over.  I  warrant  that  you  see  him  before 
night  as  well  as  ever  he  was." 

This   theory   sounded    so   reasonable   that   it 


290  RODNEY   STONE. 

seemed  to  lift  a  little  of  the  load  off  my  heart,  but 
I  could  see  that  from  my  uncle's  point  of  view  it 
was  a  poor  consolation. 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  right,  Craven,"  said  he. 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  am." 

"  But  it  won't  help  us  to  win  the  fight." 

"That's  the  point,  sir,"  cried  Belcher.  "By 
the  Lord,  I  wish  they'd  let  me  take  his  place,  even 
with  my  left  arm  strapped  behind  me !  " 

"  I  should  advise  you,  in  any  case,  to  go  to  the 
ringside,"  said  Craven.  "  You  should  hold  on 
until  the  last  moment,  in  the  hope  of  your  man 
turning  up." 

"  I  shall  certainly  do  so.  And  I  shall  protest 
against  paying  the  wagers  under  such  circum- 
stances." 

Craven  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You  remember  the  conditions  of  the  match," 
said  he.  "  I  fear  it  is  play  or  pay.  No  doubt 
the  point  might  be  submitted  to  the  referees, 
but  I  can  not  doubt  that  they  would  have  to 
give  it  against  you." 

We  had  sunk  into  a  melancholy  silence,  when 
suddenly  Belcher  sprang  up  from  the  table. 

"  By  George  !  "  he  cried,  "  hark  to  that !  " 

"  \Vhat  is  it  ?  "  we  cried  all  three. 

"  The  betting  !     Hark  again  !  " 

Out  of   the   babel   of   voices   and   roaring  of 


CRAWLEY   DOWNS.  291 

wheels  outside  the  window  a  single  sentence 
struck  sharply  upon  our  ears. 

"  Even  money  upon  Sir  Charles's  nominee  !  " 

"  Even  money  !  "  cried  my  uncle.  "  It  was 
seven  to  one  against  me  yesterday.  What  is 
the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 

"  Even  money  either  way  !  "  cried  the  voice 
again. 

"  There's  somebody  knows  something,"  said 
Belcher,  "  and  there's  nobody  has  a  better  right 
to  know  what  it  is  than  we — Come  on,  sir,  and 
we'll  get  to  the  bottom  of  it." 

The  village  street  was  packed  with  people,  for 
they  had  been  sleeping  twelve  and  fifteen  in  a 
room,  while  hundreds  of  gentlemen  had  spent 
the  night  in  their  carriages.  So  thick  was  the 
throng  that  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  get  out  of 
the  door  of  the  George.  A  drunken  man,  snor- 
ing horribly  in  his  breathing,  was  curled  up  in 
the  passage,  absolutely  oblivious  to  the  stream  of 
people  who  flowed  round  and  occasionally  over 
him. 

"  What's  the  betting,  boys  ?  "  asked  Belcher 
from  the  steps. 

"  Even  money,  Jem,"  cried  several  voices. 

"  It  was  long  odds  on  Wilson  when  last  I 
heard." 

"  Yes,  but  there  came  a  man  who  laid  freely 


292  RODNEY   STONE. 

the  other  way,  and  he  started  others  taking  the 
odds  until  now  you  can  get  even  money." 

"  Who  started  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  that's  he  !  The  man  that  lies  drunk 
in  the  passage.  He's  been  pouring  it  down  like 
water  ever  since  he  drove  in  at  six  o'clock,  so  it's 
no  wonder  he's  gone  under." 

Belcher  stooped  down  and  turned  over  the 
man's  inert  head. 

"  He's  a  stranger  to  me,  sir." 

"  And  to  me,"  added  my  uncle. 

"  But  not  to  me,"  I  cried.  "  It's  John  Gum- 
ming, the  landlord  of  the  inn  at  Friar's  Oak. 
I've  known  him  ever  since  I  was  a  boy,  and  I 
can't  be  mistaken." 

"  Well,  what  the  devil  can  he  know  about  it?  " 
said  Craven. 

"  Nothing  at  all,  in  all  probability,"  answered 
my  uncle.  "  He  is  backing  young  Jim  because 
he  knows  him,  and  because  he  has  more  brandy 
than  sense.  His  drunken  confidence  set  others 
to  do  the  same,  and  so  the  odds  came  down." 

"  He  was  as  sober  as  a  judge  when  he  drove 
in  here  this  morning,"  said  the  landlord.  "  He 
began  backing  Sir  Charles's  nominee  from  the 
moment  he  arrived.  Some  of  the  other  boys 
took  the  office  from  him,  and  they  very  soon 
brought  the  odds  down,  among  them." 


CRAWLEY  DOWNS.  293 

"  I  wish  he  had  not  brought  himself  down 
as  well,"  said  my  uncle.  "  I  beg  that  you 
bring  me  a  little  lavender  water,  landlord,  for 
the  smell  of  this  crowd  is  appalling — I  sup- 
pose you  couldn't  get  any  sense  out  of  this 
drunken  fellow,  nephew,  or  find  out  what  it 
is  he  knows." 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  rocked  him  by  the 
shoulder  and  shouted  his  name  in  his  ear. 
Nothing  could  break  in  upon  that  serene  in- 
toxication. 

"  Well,  it's  a  unique  situation,  as  far  as  my  ex- 
perience goes,"  said  Berkeley  Craven.  "  Here  we 
are,  within  a  couple  of  hours  of  the  fight,  and  yet 
you  don't  know  whether  you  have  a  man  to  rep- 
resent you.  I  hope  you  don't  stand  to  lose  very 
much,  Tregellis." 

My  uncle  shrugged  his  shoulders  carelessly 
and  took  a  pinch  of  his  snuff  with  that  inimitable 
sweeping  gesture  which  no  man  has  ever  ven- 
tured to  imitate. 

"  Pretty  well,  my  boy  !  "  said  he.  "  But  it  >is 
time  that  we  thought  of  going  up  to  the  Downs. 
This  night  journey  has  left  me  just  a  little  eflfleur6, 
and  I  should  like  half  an  hour  of  privacy  to  ar- 
range my  toilet.  If  this  is  my  last  kick,  it  shall 
at  least  be  with  a  well-brushed  boot." 

I  have  heard  a  traveller  from  the   wilds  of 


294 


RODNEY   STONE. 


America  say  that  he  looked  upon  the  red  Indian 
and  the  English  gentleman  as  closely  akin,  citing 
the  passion  for  sport,  the  aloofness,  and  the  sup- 
pression of  the  emotions  in  each.  I  thought  of  his 
words  as  I  watched  my  uncle  that  morning,  for  I 
believe  that  no  victim  tied  to  the  stake  could 
have  had  a  worse  outlook  before  him.  It  was 
not  merely  that  his  own  fortunes  were  largely  at 
stake,  but  it  was  the  dreadful  position  in  which 
he  would  stand  before  this  immense  concourse  of 
people,  many  of  whom  had  put  their  money  upon 
his  judgment,  if  he  should  find  himself  at  the  last 
moment  with  an  impotent  excuse  instead  of  a 
champion  to  put  before  them.  What  a  situation 
for  a  man  who  prided  himself  upon  his  aplomb 
and  upon  bringing  all  that  he  undertook  to  the 
very  highest  standard  of  success  !  I,  who  knew 
him  well,  could  tell  from  his  wan  cheeks  and  rest- 
less fingers  that  he  was  at  his  wit's  end  what  to 
do,  but  no  stranger  who  observed  his  jaunty 
bearing,  the  flicking  of  his  laced  handkerchief,  the 
handling  of  his  quizzing  glass,  or  the  shooting  of 
his  ruffles,  would  ever  have  thought  that  this 
butterfly  creature  could  have  had  a  care  upon 
earth. 

It  was  close  upon  nine  o'clock  when  we  were 
ready  to  start  for  the  Downs,  and  by  that  time 
my  uncle's  curricle  was  almost  the  only  vehicle 


CRAWLEY   DOWNS.  295 

left  in  the  village  street.  The  night  before  they 
had  lain  with  their  wheels  interlocking  and  their 
shafts  under  each  other's  bodies,  as  thick  as  they 
could  fit,  from  the  old  church  to  the  Crawley 
Elm,  spanning  the  road  five  deep  for  a  good  half 
mile  in  length.  Now  the  gray  village  street  lay 
before  us,  almost  deserted,  save  by  a  few  women 
and  children.  Men,  horses,  carriages,  all  were 
gone.  My  uncle  drew  on  his  driving  gloves  and 
arranged  his  costume  with  punctilious  neatness, 
but  I  observed  that  he  glanced  up  and  down  the 
road  with  a  haggard  and  yet  expectant  eye  before 
he  took  his  seat.  I  sat  behind  with  Belcher,  while 
the  Honourable  Berkeley  Craven  took  the  place 
beside  him. 

The  road  from  Crawley  curves  gently  upward 
to  the  upland  heather-clad  plateau  which  extends 
for  many  miles  in  every  direction.  Strings  of 
pedestrians,  most  of  them  so  weary  and  dust- 
covered  that  it  was  evident  that  they  had  walked 
the  thirty  miles  from  London  during  the  night, 
were  plodding  along  by  the  sides  of  the  road  or 
trailing  over  the  long  mottled  slopes  of  the  moor- 
land. A  horseman,  fantastically  dressed  in  green 
and  splendidly  mounted,  was  waiting  at  the  cross- 
roads, and  as  he  spurred  toward  us  I  recognised 
the  dark,  handsome  face  and  bold  black  eyes  of 
Mendoza. 

20 


296  RODNEY   STONE. 

"  I  am  waiting  'here  to  give  the  office,  Sir 
Charles,"  said  he.  "  It's  down  the  Grinstead 
road,  half  a  mile  to  the  left." 

"  Very  good,"  said  my  uncle,  reining  his  mares 
round  into  the  crossroad. 

"  You  haven't  got  your  man  there,"  remarked 
Mendoza,  with  something  of  suspicion  in  his 
manner. 

"  What  the  devil  is  that  to  you  ? "  cried 
Belcher  furiously. 

"  It's  a  good  deal  to  all  of  us,  for  there  are 
some  funny  rumours  about !  " 

"  You  keep  them  to  yourself,  then,  or  you 
may  wish  you  had  never  heard  them  !  " 

"  All  right,  Jem  !  Your  breakfast  don't  seem 
to  have  agreed  with  you  this  morning." 

"  Have  the  others  arrived  ?  "  asked  my  uncle 
carelessly. 

"  Not  yet,  Sir  Charles.  But  Tom  Oliver  is 
there  with  the  ropes  and  stakes.  Jackson  drove 
by  just  now,  and  most  of  the  ring-keepers  are 
up." 

"  We  have  still  an  hour,"  remarked  my  uncle, 
as  he  drove  on.  "  It  is  possible  that  the  others 
may  be  late,  since  they  have  to  come  from  Rei- 
gate." 

"  You  take  it  like  a  man,  Tregellis,"  said 
Craven. 


CRAWLEY   DOWNS.  297 

"  We  must  keep  a  bold  face  and  brazen  it  out 
until  the  last  moment." 

"  Of  course,  sir,"  cried  Belcher,  "  I'll  never 
believe  the  betting  would  rise  like  that  if  some- 
body didn't  know  something.  We'll  hold  on  by 
our  teeth  and  nails,  sir,  and  see  what  comes  of  it." 

We  could  hear  a  sound  like  the  waves  upon 
the  beach  long  before  we  came  in  sight  of  that 
mighty  multitude,  and  then  at  last  on  a  sudden 
dip  of  the  road  we  saw  it  lying  before  us,  a  whirl- 
pool of  humanity  with  an  open  vortex  in  the  cen- 
tre. All  round  the  thousands  of  carriages  and 
horses  were  dotted  over  the  moor,  and  the  slopes 
were  gay  with  tents  and  booths.  A  spot  had 
been  chosen  for  the  ring  where  a  great  basin  had 
been  hollowed  out  in  the  grounds,  so  that  all 
round  that  natural  amphitheatre  a  crowd  of  thirty 
thousand  people  could  see  very  well  what  was 
going  on  in  the  centre.  As  we  drove  up  a  buzz 
of  greeting  came  from  the  people  upon  the  fringe, 
which  was  nearest  to  us,  spreading  and  spread- 
ing, until  the  whole  multitude  had  joined  in  the 
acclamation.  Then  an  instant  later  a  second 
shout  broke  forth,  beginning  from  the  other  side 
of  the  arena,  and  the  faces  which  had  been  turned 
toward  us  whisked  around  so  that  in  a  twinkling 
the  whole  foreground  changed  from  white  to 
dark. 


298  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  It's  they.  They  are  in  time,"  said  my  uncle 
and  Craven  together. 

Standing  up  on  our  curricle  we  could  see  the 
cavalcade  approaching  over  the  Downs.  In  front 
came  a  huge  yellow  barouche,  in  which  sat  Sir 
Lothian  Hume,  Crab  Wilson,  and  Captain  Bar- 
clay, his  trainer.  The  postillions  were  flying  ca- 
nary-yellow ribbons  from  their  caps,  those  being 
the  colours  under  which  Wilson  was  to  fight. 
Behind  the  carriage  there  rode  a  hundred  or 
more  noblemen  and  gentlemen  of  the  west  coun- 
try, and  then  a  line  of  gigs,  tilburies,  and  car- 
riages wound  away  down  the  Grinstead  road 
as  far  as  our  eyes  could  follow  it.  The  big 
barouche  came  lumbering  over  the  sward  in 
our  direction,  until  Sir  Lothian  Hume  caught 
sight  of  us,  when  he  shouted  to  his  postillions 
to  pull  up. 

"  Good  morning,  Sir  Charles,"  said  he,  spring- 
ing out  of  the  carriage.  "  I  thought  I  knew  your 
scarlet  curricle.  We  have  an  excellent  morning 
for  the  battle." 

My  uncle  bowed  coldly  and  made  no  answer. 

"  I  suppose  that  since  we  are  all  here  we  may 
begin  at  once,"  said  Sir  Lothian,  taking  no  notice 
of  the  other's  manner. 

"  We  begin  at  ten  o'clock  ;  not  an  instant  be- 
fore." 


CRAW  LEY   DOWNS.  299 

"  Very  good  ;  if  you  prefer  it.  By  the  way, 
Sir  Charles,  where  is  your  man  ?  " 

"  I  would  ask  you  that  question,  Sir  Lothian," 
answered  my  uncle.  "  Where  is  my  man  ?  " 

A  look  of  astonishment  passed  over  Sir  Lothi- 
an's features,  which,  if  it  were  not  real  was  most 
admirably  affected. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  asking  me  such  a 
question  ?  " 

"  Because  I  wish  to  know." 

"But  how  can  I  tell,  and  what  business  is  it  of 
mine?  " 

"  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  you  have  made 
it  your  business." 

"  If  you  would  kindly  put  the  matter  a  little 
more  clearly  there  would  be  some  possibility  of 
my  understanding  you." 

They  were  both  very  white  and  cold,  formal 
and  unimpassioned  in  their  bearing,  but  ex- 
changing  glances  which  crossed  like  rapier 
blades.  I  thought  of  Sir  Lothian's  murderous 
repute  as  a  duellist,  and  I  trembled  for  my 
uncle. 

"  Now,  sir,  if  you  imagine  that  you  have  a 
grievance  against  me,  you  will  oblige  me  vastly 
by  putting  it  into  words." 

"  I  will,"  said  my  uncle.  "  There  has  been  a 
conspiracy  to  maim  or  kidnap  my  man,  and  I 


300  RODNEY   STONE. 

have  every  reason  to  believe  that  you  are  privy 
to  it." 

An  ugly  sneer  came  over  Sir  Lothian's  satur- 
nine face. 

"  I  see,"  said  he,  "  your  man  has  not  come 
on  quite  as  well  as  you  had  expected  in 
his  training,  and  you  are  hard  put  to  it  to 
invent  an  excuse.  Still  I  should  have  thought 
you  might  have  found  a  more  probable  one, 
and  one  which  would  entail  less  serious  conse- 
quences." 

"  Sir,"  answered  my  uncle,  in  a  sudden  hot 
blast  of  rage,  "  you  are  a  liar,  but  how  great  a  liar 
nobody  knows  save  yourself  !  " 

Sir  Lothian's  hollow  cheeks  grew  white 
with  passion,  and  I  saw  for  an  instant  in  his 
deep-set  eyes  such  a  glare  as  comes  from  the 
frenzied  hound,  rearing  and  ramping  at  the 
end  of  its  chain.  Then  with  an  effort  he  be- 
came the  same  cold,  hard,  self-contained  man  as 
ever. 

"  It  does  not  become  our  position  to  quarrel 
like  two  yokels  at  a  fair,"  said  he  ;  "  we  shall  go 
further  into  the  matter  afterward." 

"  I  promise  you  that  we  shall,"  answered  my 
uncle,  grimly. 

"  Meanwhile,  I  hold  you  to  the  terms  of  your 
wager.  Unless  you  produce  your  nominee 


Sir  Lothian's  hollow  cheeks  grew  white  with  passion. 


CRAWLEY   DOWNS.  301 

within  five  and  twenty  minutes  I  claim  the 
match." 

"  Eight  and  twenty  minutes,"  said  my  uncle, 
looking  at  his  watch.  "  You  may  claim  it  then, 
but  not  an  instant  before." 

He  was  admirable  at  that  moment,  for  his 
manner  was  that  of  a  man  with  all  sorts  of 
hidden  resources,  so  that  I  could  hardly  make 
myself  realize  as  I  looked  at  him  that  our  posi- 
tion was  really  as  desperate  as  I  knew  it  to  be. 
In  the  meantime  Berkeley  Craven,  who  had  been 
exchanging  a  few  words  with  Sir  Lothian  Hume, 
came  back  to  our  side. 

"  I  have  been  asked  to  be  sole  referee  in  this 
matter,"  said  he.  "  Does  that  meet  with  your 
wishes,  Sir  Charles  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  vastly  obliged  to  you,  Craven,  if 
you  will  undertake  the  duties." 

"  And  Jackson  has  been  suggested  as  time- 
keeper." 

"  I  could  not  wish  a  better  one." 

"  Very  good.     That  is  settled." 

In  the  meantime  the  last  of  the  carriages  had 
come  up,  and  the  horses  had  all  been  picketed 
upon  the  moor.  The  stragglers  who  had  dotted 
the  grass  had  closed  in  until  the  huge  crowd  was 
one  unit  with  a  single  mighty  voice,  which  was 
already  beginning  to  bellow  its  impatience. 


302  RODNEY   STONE. 

Looking  around,  there  was  hardly  a  moving 
object  upon  the  whole  vast  expanse  of  green 
and  purple  down.  A  belated  gig  was  coming 
at  full  gallop  down  the  road  which  led  from 
the  south,  and  a  few  pedestrians  were  still 
trailing  up  from  Crawley,  but  nowhere  was 
there  a  sign  of  the  missing  man. 

"  The  betting  keeps  up  for  all  that,"  said  Bel- 
cher. "  I've  just  been  to  the  ringside  and  it  is 
still  even." 

"  There's  a  place  for  you  at  the  outer  ropes, 
Sir  Charles,"  said  Craven. 

"  There  is  no  sign  of  my  man  yet.  I  won't 
come  in  until  he  arrives." 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  only  ten 
minutes  are  left." 

"  I  make  it  five,"  cried  Sir  Lothian  Hume. 

"  That  is  a  question  which  lies  with  the  ref- 
eree," said  Craven,  firmly.  "  My  watch  makes 
it  ten  minutes  and  ten  it  must  be." 

"  Here's  Crab  Wilson  !  "  cried  Belcher,  and 
at  the  same  moment  a  shout  like  a  thunderclap 
burst  from  the  crowd.  The  west  countryman 
had  emerged  from  his  dressing  tent,  followed 
by  Dutch  Sam  and  Tom  Owen,  who  were  act- 
ing as  his  seconds.  He  was  nude  to  the  waist, 
with  a  pair  of  white  calico  drawers,  white  silk 
-  stockings,  and  running  shoes.  Round  his  mid- 


CRAWLEY   DOWNS. 


303 


die  was  a  canary-yellow  sash  and  dainty  little 
ribbons  of  the  same  colour  fluttered  from  the 
sides  of  his  knees.  He  carried  a  high  white 
hat  in  his  hand,  and,  running  down  the  lane, 
which  had  been  kept  open  through  the  crowd, 
to  allow  persons  to  reach  the  ring,  he  threw  the 
hat  high  into  the  air,  so  that  it  fell  within  the 
staked  inclosure.  Then  with  a  double  spring 
he  cleared  the  outer  and  inner  line  of  rope, 
and  stood  with  his  arms  folded  in  the  centre. 

I  do  not  wonder  that  the  people  cheered. 
Even  Belcher  could  not  help  joining  in  the 
general  shout  of  applause.  He  was  certainly  a 
splendidly  built  young  athlete,  and  one  could 
not  have  wished  to  look  upon  a  finer  sight  as 
his  white  skin,  sleek  and  luminous  as  a  pan- 
ther's, gleamed  in  the  light  of  the  morning 
sun,  with  a  beautiful  liquid,  rippling  of  mus- 
cles at  every  movement.  His  arms  were  long 
and  slingy,  his  shoulders  loose  and  yet  power- 
ful, with  the  downward  slant  which  is  a  surer 
index  of  power  than  squareness  can  be.  He 
clasped  his  hands  behind"  his  head,  threw  them 
aloft,  and  swung  them  backward,  and  at  every 
movement  some  fresh  expanse  of  his  white  skin 
became  knotted  and  gnarled  with  muscle,  while 
a  yell  of  admiration  and  delight  from  the  crowd 
greeted  each  fresh  exhibition.  Then,  folding  his 


304  RODNEY   STONE. 

arms  once  more,  he  stood  like  a  beautiful  statue 
waiting  for  his  antagonist. 

Sir  Lothian  Hume  had  been  looking  impatient- 
ly at  his  watch,  and  now  he  shut  it  with  a  trium- 
phant snap. 

"  Time's  up  !  "  he  cried.  "  The  match  is  for- 
feit." 

"  Time  is  not  up,"  said  Craven. 

"  I  have  still  five  minutes."  My  uncle  looked 
round  with  despairing  eyes. 

"  Only  three,  Tregellis." 

A  deep,  angry  murmur  was  rising  from  the 
crowd.  "  It's  a  cross !  It's  a  cross !  It's  a 
fake  !  "  was  the  cry. 

"  Two  minutes,  Tregellis  !  " 

"  Where's  your  man,  Sir  Charles  ?  Where's 
the  man  that  we  have  backed  ?  "  Flushed  faces 
began  to  crane  over  each  other  and  angry  eyes 
glared  up  at  us. 

"  One  more  minute,  Tregellis !  I  am  very 
sorry,  but  it  will  be  my  duty  to  declare  it 
forfeit  against  you." 

There   was   a   sudden   swirl  in  the  crowd,  a 
rush,    a   shout,  and    high    up  -in    the  air   there 
spun  an  old   black   hat,   floating  over  the  heads 
of    the    ringsiders   and    flickering   down   within . 
the  ropes. 

"  Saved,  by  the  Lord  !  "  screamed  Belcher. 


CRAWLEY   DOWNS.  305 

"  I  rather  fancy,"  said  my  uncle  calmly,  "  that 
this  must  be  my  man." 

"  Too  late  !  "  cried  Sir  Lothian. 

"  No,"  answered  the  referee.  "  It  is  still 
twenty  seconds  to  the  hour.  The  fight  will  now 
proceed." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  RINGSIDE. 

Our  of  the  whole  of  that  vast  multitude  I  was 
one  of  the  very  few  who  had  observed  whence  it 
was  that  this  black  hat,  skimming  so  opportunely 
over  the  ropes,  had  come.  I  have  already  re- 
•uaikrd  that  when  we  looked  around  us  there 
had  been  a  single  gig  travelling  very  rapidly 
upon  the  southern  road.  My  uncle's  eyes  had 
rested  upon  it,  but  his  attention  had  been 
drawn  away  by  the  discussion  between  Sir 
T-rrfhian  Hume  and  the  referee  upon  the  ques- 
tion of  time.  For  my  own  part,  I  had  been 
so  struck  by  the  furious  manner  in  which  these 
belated  travellers  were  approaching  that  I  had 
continued  to  watch  them  with  all  sorts  of 
vague  hopes  within  me,  which  I  did  not  dare 
to  put  into  words  for  fear  of  adding  to  my 
uncle's  disappointments.  I  had  just  made  out 
that  the  gig  contained  a  man  and  a  woman, 

when  suddenly   I  saw  it  swerve  off    the  road 

306 


THE   RINGSIDE. 


come  with  a  galloping  horse  and  bounding 
wheels  right  across  the  moor,  ci^isluag  Ifaoagh 
the  gorse  boshes  and  ""fr'^g  down  to  the  hubs 
in  the  heather  and  bi«MJkeiL.  As  the  driver 
pulled  up  his  foam-spattered  horse  he  threw 
the  reins  to  his  companion,  ipung  fauui  his 
seat,  butted  f  nriouslj  at  the  crowd,  and  then 
an  instant  afterward  up  went  tie  hat  winch 
told  of  his  challenge  and  drfianrr 

"  There  is  no  hurry  now,  I  ptttmm*,  Craven," 
said  m j  uncle  as  coolly  as  if  this  iaddrn  effect 
had  been  carefully  devised  by  him. 

"  Now  that  your  man  has  his  hat  in  the  ring, 
yon  can  take  as  much  time  as  you  Kke,  Sir 
Charles." 

"Your  friend  has  certainly  cut  it  rather  fine, 
nephew.*" 

"  It  is  not  Jim,  sir/*  I  whispered ;  "  it  is  some 
:-e  die. 

My  uncle's  cjebums  betrayed  bis  **i**'t*l»- 
Bsent. 

"Some  one  else!""  he  ejaculated. 

"And  a  good  man,  too!"  roared  Belcher, 
dipping  his  thigh  with  a  crack  Eke  a  pistol- 
shot.  "Why.  blow  my  dickey,  if  it  ain't  old 
Jack  Harrison  himself!*" 

Looking  down  at  the  crowd,  we  had  seen  the 
head  and  shoulders  of  a  puwofid  and  stienuuus 


303  RODNEY   STONE. 

man  moving  slowly  forward,  and  leaving  behind 
him  a  long  V-shaped  ripple  upon  its  surface  like 
the  wake  of  a  swimming  dog.  Now,  as  he  pushed 
his  way  through  the  looser  fringes,  the  head  was 
raised,  and  there  was  the  grinning,  hardy  face  of 
the  smith  looking  up  at  us.  He  had  left  his  hat 
in  the  ring,  and  he  was  enveloped  in  an  overcoat 
with  a  blue  bird's-eye  handkerchief  tied  around 
his  neck.  As  he  emerged  from  the  throng  he 
let  his  greatcoat  fly  loose,  and  showed  that  he 
was  dressed  in  his  full  fighting  kit — black 
drawers,  chocolate  stockings,  and  white  shoes. 

"  I'm  right  sorry  to  be  so  late,  Sir  Charles," 
he  cried.  "  I'd  have  been  sooner,  but  it  took 
me  a  little  time  to  make  it  all  right  with  the 
missus.  I  couldn't  convince  her  all  at  once, 
an'  so  I  brought  her  with  me,  and  we  argued 
it  out  on  the  way."  Looking  at  the  gig,  I  saw 
now  that  it  was  indeed  Mrs.  Harrison  who 
was  seated  in  it. 

Sir  Charles  beckoned  him  up  to  the  wheel  of 
the  curricle. 

"  What  in  the  world  brings  you  here,  Harri- 
son ?  "  he  whispered.  "  I  am  as  glad  to  see  you 
as  ever  I  was  to  see  a  man  in  my  life,  but  I  con- 
fess I  did  not  expect  you." 

"  Well,  sir,  you  heard  I  was  coming,"  said  the 
smith. 


THE   RINGSIDE. 


309 


"  Indeed,  I  did  not." 

"  Didn't  you  get  a  message,  Sir  Charles,  from 
a  man  named  Gumming,  landlord  of  the  Friar's 
Oak  Inn?  Master  Rodney  there  would  know 
him." 

"  We  saw  him   dead   drunk  at   the  George." 

"  There,  now,  if  I  wasn't  afraid  of  it !  "  cried 
Harrison,  angrily.  "  He's  always  like  that  when 
he's  excited,  and  I  never  saw  a  man  more  off  his 
head  than  he  was  when  he  heard  I  was  goin'  to 
take  this  job  over.  He  brought  a  bag  of  sover- 
eigns up  with  him  to  back  me  with." 

"  That's  how  the  betting  got  turned,"  said  my 
uncle.  "  He  found  others  to  follow  his  lead,  it 
appears." 

"  I  was  so  afraid  that  he  might  get  upon  the 
drink  that  I  made  him  promise  to  go  straight  to 
you,  sir,  the  very  instant  he  should  arrive.  He 
had  a  note  to  deliver." 

"  I  understand  that  he  reached  the  George  at 
six,  while  I  did  not  return  from  Reigate  until 
after  seven,  by  which  time  I  have  no  doubt  that 
he  had  drunk  his  message  to  me  out  of  his 
head.  But  where  is  your  nephew,  Jim,  and 
how  did  you  come  to  know  that  you  would  be 
needed  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  his  fault,  I  promise  you,  that  you 
should  be  left  in  the  lurch.  As  to  me,  I  had  my 


RODNEY   STONE. 

orders  to  take  his  place  from  the  only  man  on 
earth  whose  word  I  have  never  disobeyed." 

"  Yes,  Sir  Charles,"  said  Mrs.  Harrison,  who 
had  left  the  gig  and  approached  us,  "  you  can 
make  the  most  of  it  this  time,  for  never  again 
shall  you  have  my  Jack — not  if  you  were  to  go 
on  your  knees  for  him  !  " 

"  She's  not  a  patron  of  sport,  and  that's  a 
fact,"  said  the  smith. 

"  Sport !  "  she  cried,  with  shrill  contempt  and 
anger.  "  Tell  me  when  all  is  over."  She  hur- 
ried away,  and  I  saw  her  afterward  seated  among 
the  bracken,  her  back  turned  toward  the  multi- 
tude and  her  hands  over  her  ears,  cowering  and 
wincing  in  an  agony  of  apprehension. 

While  this  hurried  scene  had  been  taking  place 
the  crowd  had  become  more  and  more  tumultu- 
ous, partly  from  their  impatience  at  the  delay  and 
partly  from  their  exuberant  spirits  at  the  unex- 
pected chance  of  seeing  so  celebrated  a  fighting 
man  as  Harrison.  His  identity  had  already  been 
noised  abroad,  and  many  an  elderly  connoisseur 
plucked  his  long  net  purse  out  of  his  fob,  in 
order  to  put  a  few  guineas  upon  the  man  who 
would  represent  the  school  of  the  past  against 
the  present.  The  younger  men  were  still  in 
favour  of  the  west  country  man,  and  small  odds 
were  to  be  had  either  way  in  proportion  to  the 


THE   RINGSIDE.  3H 

number  of  the  supporters  of  each  in  the  different 
parts  of  the  crowd. 

In  the  meantime  Sir  Lothian  Hume  had  come 
bustling  up  to  the  Honourable  Berkeley  Craven, 
who  was  still  standing  near  our  curricle. 

"  I  beg  to  lodge  a  formal  protest  against  these 
proceedings,"  said  he. 

"  On  what  grounds,  sir?  " 

"  Because  the  man  produced  is  not  the  original 
nominee  of  Sir  Charles  Tregellis." 

"  I  never  named  one,  as  you  are  well  aware," 
said  my  uncle. 

"  The  betting  has  all  been  upon  the  under- 
standing that  young  Jim  Harrison  was  my  man's 
opponent.  Now  at  the  last  moment  he  is  with- 
drawn and  another  and  more  formidable  man  put 
into  his  place." 

"  Sir  Charles  Tregellis  is  quite  within  his 
rights,"  said  Craven  firmly.  "  He  undertook  to 
produce  a  man  who  should  be  within  the  age 
limits  stipulated,  and  I  understand  that  Harrison 
fulfils  all  the  conditions. — You  are  over  five  and 
thirty,  Harrison?" 

"  Forty-one  next  month,  master." 

"  Very  good.  I  direct  that  the  fight  pro- 
ceed." 

But  alas !  there  was  one  authority  which  was 
higher  even  than  that  of  the  referee,  and  we  were 


3i2  RODNEY   STONE. 

destined  to  an  experience  which  was  the  prelude, 
and  sometimes  the  conclusion  also,  of  many  an 
old-time  tight.  Across  the  moor  there  had  ridden 
a  black-coated  gentleman  with  buff-topped  hunt- 
ing boots  and  a  couple  of  grooms  behind  him, 
the  little  knot  of  horsemen  showing  up  clearly 
upon  the  curving  swells  and  dipping  down  into 
the  alternate  hollows.  Some  of  the  more  observ- 
ant of  the  crowd  had  glanced  suspiciously  at  this 
advancing  figure,  but  the  majority  had  not  ob- 
served him  at  all  until  he  reined  up  his  horse 
upon  a  knoll  which  overlooked  the  amphitheatre, 
and  in  a  stentorian  voice  announced  that  he  rep- 
resented the  custos  rotulorum  of  his  Majesty's 
county  of  Surrey,  that  he  proclaimed  this  assem- 
bly to  be  gathered  for  an  illegal  purpose,  and 
that  he  was  commissioned  to  disperse  it  by  force 
if  necessary. 

Never  before  had  I  understood  that  deep- 
seated  fear  and  wholesome  respect  which  many 
centuries  of  bludgeoning  at  the  hands  of  the  law 
had  beaten  into  the  fierce  and  turbulent  natives  of 
these  islands.  Here  was  a  man  with  two  attend- 
ants upon  one  side,  and  on  the  other  thirty 
thousand  very  angry  and  disappointed  people, 
many  of  them  fighters  by  profession,  and  some 
from  the  roughest  and  most  dangerous  classes  in 
the  country.  And  yet  it  was  the  single  man  who 


THE   RINGSIDE.  313 

appealed  confidently  to  force,  while  the  huge 
multitude  swayed  and  murmured  like  a  mutinous 
fierce-willed  creature  brought  face  to  face  with  a 
power  against  which  it  knew  there  was  neither 
argument  nor  resistance.  My  uncle,  however, 
with  Berkeley  Craven,  Sir  John  Lade,  and  a 
dozen  other  lords  and  gentlemen,  hurried  across 
to  the  interrupter  of  the  sport. 

"  I  presume  that  you  have  a  warrant,  sir  ?  " 
said  Craven. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  have  a  warrant." 

"  Then  I  have  a  legal  right  to  inspect  it." 

The  magistrate  handed  him  a  blue  paper, 
which  the  little  knot  of  gentlemen  clustered  their 
heads  over,  for  they  were  mostly  magistrates 
themselves,  and  were  keenly  alive  to  any  possible 
flaw  in  the  wording.  At  last  Craven  shrugged 
his  shoulders  and  handed  it  back. 

"  This  seems  to  be  correct,  sir,"  said  he. 

'•  It  is  entirely  correct,"  answered  the  magis- 
trate affably. — "  To  prevent  waste  of  your  valu- 
able time,  gentlemen,  I  may  say  once  for  all  that 
it  is  my  unalterable  determination  that  no  fight 
shall,  under  any  circumstances,  be  brought  off  in 
the  county  over  which  I  have  control,  and  I  am 
prepared  to  follow  you  all  day  in  order  to  pre- 
vent it." 

To  my  inexperience  this  appeared  to  bring  the 


3 14  RODNEY   STONE. 

whole  matter  to  a  conclusion,  but  I  had  under- 
rated the  foresight  of  those  who  arrange  these 
affairs,  and  also  the  advantages  which  made 
Crawley  Down  so  favourite  a  rendezvous.  There 
was  a  hurried  consultation  between  the  princi- 
pals, the  backers,  the  referee,  and  the  time- 
keeper. 

"  It's  seven  miles  to  Hampshire  border  and 
about  six  to  Sussex,"  said  Jackson.  The  famous 
master  of  the  ring  was  clad  in  honour  of  the  occa- 
sion in  a  most  resplendent  scarlet  coat,  worked  in 
gold  at  the  buttonholes,  a  white  stock,  a  looped 
hat  with  a  broad  black  band,  buff  knee  breeches, 
white  silk  stockings  and  paste  buckles — a  costume 
which  did  justice  to  his  magnificent  figure  and 
especially  to  those  famous  "  balustrade  "  calves 
which  had  helped  him  to  be  the  finest  runner  and 
jumper  as  well  as  the  most  formidable  pugilist 
in  England.  His  hard,  high-boned  face,  large, 
piercing  eyes,  and  immense  physique  made  him  a 
fitting  leader  for  that  rough  and  tumultuous  body 
who  had  named  him  as  their  commander-in- 
chief. 

"  If  I  might  venture  to  offer  you  a  word  of  ad- 
vice," said  the  affable  official,  "  it  would  be  to 
make  for  the  Hampshire  line,  for  Sir  James  Ford 
on  the  Sussex  border  has  as  great  an  objection  to 
such  assemblies  as  I  have,  while  Mr.  Merridew,  of 


THE   RINGSIDE.  315 

Long  Hall,  who  is  the  Hampshire  magistrate,  has 
fewer  scruples  upon  the  point." 

"  Sir,"  said  my  uncle,  raising  his  hat  in  his 
most  impressive  manner,  "  I  am  infinitely  obliged 
to  you.  With  the  referee's  permission  there  is 
nothing  for  it  but  to  shift  the  stakes." 

In  an  instant  a  scene  of  the  wildest  animation 
had  set  in.  Tom  Owen  and  his  assistant,  Fogo, 
with  the  help  of  the  ringkeepers,  plucked  up  the 
stakes  and  ropes  and  carried  them  off  across 
country.  Crab  Wilson  was  enveloped  in  great- 
coats and  borne  away  in  the  barouche,  while 
Champion  Harrison  took  Mr.  Craven's  place  in 
our  curricle.  Then  off  the  huge  crowd  started, 
horsemen,  vehicles,  and  pedestrians,  rolling  slow- 
ly over  the  broad  face  of  the  moorland.  The 
carriages  rocked  and  pitched  like  boats  in  a  sea- 
way as  they  lumbered  along,  fifty  abreast,  scram- 
bling and  lurching  over  everything  which  came 
in  their  way.  Sometimes  with  a  snap  and  a  thud 
one  axle  would  come  to  the  ground,  while  a 
wheel  reeled  off  amid  the  tussocks  of  heather, 
and  roars  of  delight  greeted  the  owners  as  they 
looked  ruefully  at  the  ruin.  Then  as  the  gorse- 
clumps  grew  thinner  and  the  sward  more  level, 
those  on  foot  began  to  run,  the  riders  struck  in 
their  spurs,  the  drivers  cracked  their  whips,  and 
away  they  all  streamed  in  the  maddest,  wildest 


316  RODNEY   STONE. 

cross-country  steeple  chase,  the  yellow  barouche 
and  the  crimson  curricle,  which  held  the  two 
champions,  leading  the  van. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  your  chances,  Harri- 
son ?  "  I  heard  my  uncle  ask,  as  the  two  mares 
picked  their  way  over  the  broken  ground. 

"  It's  my  last  fight,  Sir  Charles,"  said  the 
smith.  "  You  heard  the  missus  say  that  if  she 
let  me  off  this  time  I  was  never  to  ask  again.  I 
must  try  and  make  it  a  good  one." 

"  But  your  training?  " 

"  I'm  always  in  training,  sir  !  I  work  hard 
from  morning  to  night,  and  I  drink  little  else 
than  water.  I  don't  think  that  Captain  Barclay 
can  do  much  better  with  all  his  rules." 

"  He's  rather  long  in  the  reach  for  you." 

"  I've  fought  and  beaten  them  that  were 
longer.  If  it  comes  to  a  rally  I  should  hold  my 
own,  and  I  should  have  the  better  of  him  at  a 
throw." 

"  It's  a  match  of  youth  against  experience. 
Well,  I  would  not  hedge  a  guinea  of  my  money. 
But  unless  he  was  acting  under  force  I  can  not 
forgive  young  Jim  for  having  deserted  me." 

"  He  was  acting  under  force,  Sir  Charles." 

"  You  have  seen  him,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  master,  I  have  not  seen  him." 

"  You  know  where  he  is  ?  " 


THE   RINGSIDE. 


317 


"  Well,  it  is  not  for  me  to  say  one  way  or  the 
other.  I  can  only  tell  you  that  he  could  not  help 
himself.  But  here's  the  beak  a-comin'  for  us 
again." 

The  ominous  figure  galloped  up  once  more 
alongside  of  our  curricle,  but  this  time  his  mis- 
sion was  a  more  amiable  one. 

"  My  jurisdiction  ends  at  that  ditch,  sir,"  said 
he.  "  I  should  fancy  that  you  could  hardly  wish 
a  better  place  for  a  mill  than  the  sloping  field  be- 
yond. I  am  quite  sure  that  no  one  will  interfere 
with  you  there." 

His  anxiety  that  the  fight  should  be  brought 
off  was  in  such  contrast  to  the  zeal  with  which  he 
had  chased  us  from  his  county  that  my  uncle 
could  not  help  remarking  upon  it. 

"  It  is  not  for  a  magistrate  to  wink  at  the 
breaking  of  the  law,  sir,"  he  answered,  "  but  if 
my  colleague  of  Hampshire  has  no  scruples 
about  its  being  brought  off  within  his  jurisdiction 
I  should  very  much  like  to  see  the  fight,"  with 
which  he  spurred  his  horse  up  an  adjacent  knoll, 
from  which  he  thought  that  he  might  gain  the 
best  view  of  the  proceedings. 

And  now  I  had  a  view  of  all  those  points  of 
etiquette  and  curious  survivals  of  custom  which 
are  so  recent  that  we  have  not  yet  appreciated 
that  they  may  some  day  be  as  interesting  to  the 


318  RODNEY  STONE. 

social  historian  as  they  then  were  to  the  sports- 
man. A  dignity  was  given  to  the  contest  by  a 
rigid  code  of  ceremony,  just  as  the  clash  of  mail- 
clad  knights  was  prefaced  and  adorned  by  the 
calling  of  the  heralds  and  the  showing  of  blazoned 
shields.  To  many  in  those  ancient  days  the  tour- 
ney may  have  seemed  a  bloody  and  brutal  ordeal, 
but  we  who  look  at  it  with  ample  perspective  see 
that  it  was  a  rude  but  gallant  preparation  for  the 
conditions  of  life  in  an  iron  age.  And  so  also 
when  the  ring  has  become  as  extinct  as  the  lists 
we  may  understand  that  a  broader  philosophy 
would  show  that  all  things  which  spring  up  so 
naturally  and  spontaneously  have  a  function  to 
fulfil,  and  that  it  is  a  less  evil  that  two  men 
should,  of  their  own  free  will,  fight  until  they  can 
fight  no  more,  than  that  the  standard  of  hardi- 
hood and  endurance  should  run  the  slightest  risk 
of  being  lowered  in  a  nation  which  depends  so 
largely  upon  the  individual  qualities  of  her  citi- 
zens for  her  defence.  Do  away  with  war,  if  the 
cursed  thing  can,  by  any  wit  of  man,  be  avoided, 
but  until  you  see  your  way  to  that,  have  a  care 
in  meddling  with  those  primitive  qualities  to 
which  at  any  moment  you  may  have  to  appeal 
for  your  own  protection. 

Tom  Owen  and  his  singular  assistant,  Fogo, 
who  combined  the  functions  of  prize-fighter  and 


THE   RINGSIDE.  319 

of  poet,  though,  fortunately  for  himself,  he  could 
use  his  fists  better  than  his  pen,  soon  had  the 
ring  arranged  according  to  the  rules  then  in 
vogue.  The  white  wooden  posts,  each  with  the 
P.  C.  of  the  Pugilistic  Club  printed  on  it,  were 
so  fixed  as  to  leave  a  square  of  twenty-four  feet 
within  the  roped  inclosure.  Outside  this  ring  an 
outer  one  was  pitched,  eight  feet  separating  the 
two.  The  inner  was  for  the  combatants  and  for 
their  seconds,  while  in  the  outer  there  were 
places  for  the  referee,  the  timekeeper,  the  back- 
ers, and  a  few  select  and  fortunate  individuals, 
of  whom,  through  being  in  my  uncle's  company, 
I  was  one.  Some  twenty  well-known  prize-fight- 
ers, including  my  friend  Bill  Warr,  Black  Rich- 
mond, Maddox,  the  Pride  of  Westminster,  Tom 
Belcher,  Paddington  Jones,  Tough  Tom  Blake, 
Symonds  the  Ruffian,  Tyne  the  Tailor,  and  others 
were  stationed  in  the  outer  ring  as  beaters-out- 

These  fellows  all  wore  the  high  white  hats, 
which  were  at  that  time  much  affected  by  the 
fancy,  and  they  were  armed  with  horsewhips,  sil- 
ver mounted,  and  each  bearing  the  P.  C.  mono- 
gram. Did  any  one,  be  it  East  End  rough  or 
West  End  patrician,  intrude  within  the  outer 
ropes,  this  corps  of  guardians  neither  argued  nor 
expostulated,  but  they  fell  upon  the  offender  and 
laced  him  with  their  whips  until  he  escaped  back 


:::  RODNEY  STOXE. 

oat  of  the  forbidden  ground.  Even  with  so  for- 
midable  a  guard  and  such  fierce  measures  the 
fceaters-out  who  had  to  check  the  forward  heaves 
of  a  maddened  straining  CHMMl  woe  often  as 
exhausted  at  the  end  of  a  fifth!  as  the  principals 
themselves.  In  the  meantime  thev  formed  up  in 
a  line  of  sentinels,  presenting  under  their  row  of 
white  hats  every  type  of  fighting  face,  from  the 
fresh  boyidi  countenances  of  Tom  Belcher, 
Jones,  and  the  other  younger  recruits,  to  the 
scarred  and  mutilated  visages  of  the  veteran 
bruisers. 

While  the  business  of  the  fixing  of  the  stakes 
and  the  fastening  of  the  ropes  was  going  forward, 
I  from  my  place  of  vantage  could  hear  the  talk  of 
the  crowd  behind  me,  the  front  two  rows  of 
which  were  lying  upon  the  grass,  the  next  two 
kneeling,  and  the  others  standing  in  serried  ranks 
all  up  the  side  of  the  gently  sloping  hill,  so  that 
each  line  could  just  see  over  the  shoulders  of 
that  which  was  in  front.  There  were  several,  and 
those  among  the  most  experienced,  who  took  the 
gloomiest  view  of  Harrison's  chances,  and  it  made 
my  heart  heavy  to  overhear  them. 

"  It's  the  old  story  over  again,"  said  one. 
"  They  won't  bear  in  mind  that  youth  will  be 
serred.  They  ooly  learn  wisdom  when  it's 
knocked  into  them." 


THE  RINGSIDE.  321 

"  Ay,  ay,"  responded  another.  "  That's  how 
Jack  Slack  thrashed  Boughton,  and  I  myself 
saw  Hooper,  the  tinman,  beat  to  pieces  by  the 
fighting  oilman.  They  all  come  to  it  in  time, 
and  now  it's  Harrison's  turn." 

"  Don't  you  be  so  sure  about  that,"  cried  a 
third.  "  I've  seen  Jack  Harrison  fight  five 
times,  and  I  never  yet  saw  him  have  the 
worst  of  it.  He's  a  slaughterer,  and  so  I  tell  you." 

"  He  was,  you  mean." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  no  such  difference  as  all 
that  comes  to,  and  I'm  putting  ten  guineas  on 
my  opinion." 

"  Why,"  said  a  loud,  consequential  man  from 
immediately  behind  me,  speaking  with  a  broad 
western  burr,  "vrom  what  IVe  zeen  of  this 
young  Gloucester  lad  I  doan't  think  Harrison 
could  have  stood  bevore  him  for  ten  rounds 
when  he  was  in  his  prime.  I  vas  coming  up 
in  the  Bristol  coach  yesterday,  and  the  guard 
he  told  me  that  he  had  vifteen  thousand  pound 
in  hard  gold  in  the  boot  that  had  been  rent 
up  to  back  our  man." 

"They'll  be  in  luck  if  they  see  their  money 
again,"  said  another.  "  Harrison's  no  lady's  maid 
fighter,  and  he's  blood  to  the  bone.  He'd  have 
a  shy  at  it  if  his  man  was  as  big  as  Carltoo 
House," 


322  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  Tut ! "  answered  the  west  country  man. 
"  It's  only  in  Bristol  and  Gloucester  that  you 
can  get  men  to  beat  Bristol  and  Gloucester." 

"  It's  like  your  damned  himpudence  to  say 
so ! "  said  an  angry  voice  from  the  throng  be- 
hind him.  "  There  are  six  men  in  London  that 
would  hengage  to  walk  round  the  best  twelve 
that  hever  came  from  the  west ! " 

The  proceedings  might  have  opened  by  an 
impromptu  by-battle  between  the  indignant  cock- 
ney and  the  gentleman  from  Bristol,  but  a  pro- 
longed roar  of  applause  broke  in  upon  their 
altercation.  It  was  caused  by  the  appearance 
in  the  ring  of  Crab  Wilson,  followed  by  Dutch 
Sam  and  Mendoza,  carrying  the  basin,  sponge, 
brandy  bladder,  and  other  badges  of  their  office. 

As  he  entered,  Wilson  pulled  the  canary-yel- 
low handkerchief  from  his  waist,  and  going  to 
the  corner  post  he  tied  it  to  the  top  of  it,  where 
it  remained  fluttering  in  the  breeze.  He  then 
took  a  bundle  of  smaller  ribbons  of  the  same 
colour  from  his  seconds,  and  walking  round  he 
offered  them  to  the  noblemen  and  Corinthians  at 
half  a  guinea  a  piece  as  souvenirs  of  the  fight. 
His  brisk  trade  was  only  brought  to  an  end  by 
the  appearance  of  Harrison,  who  climbed  in  a 
very  leisurely  manner  over  the  ropes  as  befitted 
his  more  mature  years  and  less  elastic  joints. 


THE   RINGSIDE. 


323 


The  yell  which  greeted  him  was  even  more 
enthusiastic  than  that  which  had  heralded  Wil- 
son, and  there  was  a  louder  ring  of  admiration 
in  it,  for  the  crowd  had  already  had  their  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  Wilson's  physique,  while  Harri- 
son's was  a  surprise  to  them. 

I  had  often  looked  upon  the  mighty  arms  and 
neck  of  the  smith,  but  I  had  never  before  seen 
him  stripped  to  the  waist,  or  understood  the 

N. 

marvellous  symmetry  of  development  which  had 
made  him  in  his  youth  the  favourite  model  of 
the  London  sculptors.  There  was  none  of  that 
white,  sleek  skin  and  shimmering  play  of  sinew 
which  made  Wilson  a  beautiful  picture,  but  in 
its  stead  there  was  a  rugged  grandeur  of  knot- 
ted and  tangled  muscle,  as  though  the  roots  of 
some  old  tree  were  writhing  from  breast  to 
shoulder  and  from  shoulder  to  elbow.  Even  in 
repose  the  sun  threw  shadows  upon  the  curves 
of  his  skin,  but  when  he  exerted  himself  every 
muscle  bunched  itself  up,  distinct  and  hard, 
breaking  his  whole  trunk  into  gnarled  knots 
of  sinew.  His  skin,  on  face  and  body,  was 
darker  and  harsher  than  that  of  his  youthful 
antagonist,  but  he  looked  tougher  and  harder, 
an  effect  which  was  increased  by  the  sombre 
colour  of  his  stockings  and  breeches.  He  en- 
tered the  ring,  sucking  a  lemon,  with  Jem  Bel- 


324  RODNEY   STONE. 

cher  and  Caleb  Baldwin  the  coster  at  his  heels. 
Strolling  across  to  the  post,  he  tied  his  blue 
bird's-eye  handkerchief  over  the  west  country 
yellowman,  and  then  walked  to  his  opponent 
with  his  hand  out. 

"  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  Wilson,"  said  he. 

"  Pretty  tidy,  I  thank  you,"  answered  the 
other.  "  We'll  speak  to  each  other  in  a  dif- 
ferent fashion,  I  'spects,  afore  we  part." 

"  But  no  ill-feeling,"  said  the  smith,  and  the 
two  fighting  men  grinned  at  each  other  as  they 
took  their  own  corners. 

"  May  I  ask,  Mr.  Referee,  whether  these  two 
men  have  been  weighed  ? "  asked  Sir  Lothian 
Hume,  standing  up  in  the  outer  ring. 

"  Their  weight  has  just  been  taken  under  my 
supervision,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Craven.  "  Your 
man  brought  the  scales  down  at  thirteen  three 
and  Harrison  at  thirteen  eight." 

"  He's  a  fifteen-stoner  from  the  loins  upward," 
cried  Dutch  Sam  from  his  corner.  "  We'll  get 
some  of  it  off  him  before  we  finish." 

"  You'll  get  more  off  him  than  ever  you  bar- 
gained for,"  answered  Jem  Belcher,  and  the  crowd 
laughed  at  the  rough  chaff. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  SMITH'S  LAST  BATTLE. 

"  CLEAR  the  outer  ring ! "  cried  Jackson, 
standing  up  beside  the  ropes  with  a  big  silver 
watch  in  his  hand. 

"  Ss — whack!  ss — whack!  ss — whack!"  went 
the  horsewhips,  for  a  number  of  the  spectators, 
either  driven  onward  by  the  pressure  behind  or 
willing  to  risk  some  physical  pain  on  the  chance 
of  getting  a  better  view,  had  crept  under  the 
ropes  and  formed  a  ragged  fringe  within  the 
outer  ring.  Now  amid  roars  of  laughter  from 

o  o 

the  crowd  and  a  shower  of  blows  from  the  beat- 
ers-out they  dived  madly  back  with  the  ungainly 
haste  of  frightened  sheep  blundering  through  a 
gap  in  their  hurdles.  Their  case  was  a  hard  one, 
for  the  folk  in  front  refused  to  yield  an  inch  of 
their  places,  but  the  arguments  from  the  rear  pre- 
vailed over  everything  else,  and  presently  every 
frantic  fugitive  had  been  absorbed,  while  the 

beaters-out  took  their  stands  along  the  edge  at 

325 


326  RODNEY   STONE. 

regular  intervals  with  their  whips  held  down  by 
their  thighs. 

"  Gentlemen,"  cried  Jackson  again,  "  I  am  re- 
quested to  inform  you  that  Sir  Charles  Tregellis's 
nominee  is  Jack  Harrison,  fighting  at  thirteen 
eight,  and  Sir  Lothian  Hume's  is  Crab  Wilson, 
at  thirteen  three.  No  person  can  be  allowed  at 
the  inner  ropes  save  the  referee  and  the  time- 
keeper. I  have  only  to  beg  that  if  the  occasion 
should  require  it  you  will  all  give  your  assistance 
to  keep  the  ground  clear,  to  prevent  confusion 
and  to  have  a  fair  fight.  All  ready  ?  " 

"  All  ready,"  from  both  corners. 

"  Time ! " 

There  was  a  breathless  hush  as  Harrison,  Wil- 
son, Belcher,  and  Dutch  Sam  walked  briskly  into 
the  centre  of  the  ring.  The  two  men  shook 
hands,  while  their  seconds  did  the  same,  the  four 
hands  crossing  each  other.  Then  the  seconds 
dropped  back,  and  the  two  champions  stood  toe 
to  toe,  with  their  hands  up. 

It  was  a  magnificent  sight  to  any  one  who  had 
not  lost  his  sense  of  appreciation  of  the  noblest  of 
all  the  works  of  Nature.  Both  men  fulfilled  that 
requisite  of  the  powerful  athlete  that  they  should 
look  larger  without  their  clothes  than  with 
them.  In  ring  slang,  they  buffed  well.  And  each 
showed  up  the  other's  points  on  account  of  the 


THE   SMITH'S  LAST   BATTLE.  337 

extreme  contrast  between  them,  the  long,  loose- 
limbed,  deer-footed  youngster,  and  the  square-set 
rugged  veteran,  with  his  trunk  like  the  stump  of 
an  oak.  The  betting  began  to  rise  upon  the 
younger  man  from  the  instant  that  they  were  put 
face  to  face,  for  his  advantages  were  obvious, 
while  those  qualities  which  had  brought  Harri- 
son to  the  top  in  his  youth  were  only  a  memory 
in  the  minds  of  the  older  men.  All  could  see  the 
three  inches  extra  of  height  and  two  of  reach 
which  Wilson  possessed,  and  a  glance  at  the 
quick,  catlike  motions  of  his  feet,  and  the  perfect 
poise  of  his  body  upon  his  legs,  showed  how 
swiftly  he  could  spring  either  in  or  out  from  his 
slower  adversary.  But  it  took  a  subtler  insight 
to  read  the  grim  smile  which  flickered  over  the 
smith's  mouth,  or  the  smouldering  fire  which 
shone  in  his  gray  eyes,  and  it  was  only  the  old- 
timers  who  knew  that  with  his  mighty  heart  and 
his  iron  frame  he  was  a  perilous  man  to  lay  odds 
against. 

Wilson  stood  in  the  position  from  which  he 
had  derived  his  nickname,  his  left  hand  and  left 
foot  well  to  the  front,  his  body  sloped  very  far 
back  from  his  loins,  and  his  guard  thrown  across 
his  chest,  but  held  well  forward,  in  a  way  which 
made  him  exceedingly  hard  to  get  at.  The 
smith,  on  the  other  hand,  assumed  the  obsolete 


22 


328  RODNEY  STONE. 

attitude  which  Humphries  and  Mendoza  intro- 
duced, but  which  had  not  for  ten  years  been  seen 
in  a  first-class  battle.  Both  his  knees  were  slightly 
bent,  he  stood  square  to  his  opponent,  and  his 
two  big  brown  fists  were  held  over  his  mark,  so 
that  he  could  lead  equally  with  either.  Wilson's 
hands,  which  moved  incessantly  in  and  out,  had 
been  stained  with  some  astringent  juice,  with  the 
purpose  of  preventing  them  from  puffing,  and  so 
great  was  the  contrast  between  them  and  his 
white  forearms  that  1  imagined  that  he  was 
wearing  dark,  close-fitting  gloves,  until  my  un- 
cle explained  the  matter  in  a  whisper.  So  they 
stood  in  a  quiver  of  eagerness  and  expectation, 
while  that  huge  multitude  hung  so  silently 
and  breathlessly  upon  every  motion  that  they 
might  have  believed  themselves  to  be  alone, 
man  to  man,  in  the  centre  of  some  primeval  soli- 
tude. 

It  was  evident  from  the  beginning  that  Crab 
Wilson  meant  to  throw  no  chance  away,  and  that 
he  would  trust  to  his  lightness  of  foot  and  quick- 
ness of  foot  until  he  should  see  something  of  the 
tactics  of  his  rough-looking  antagonist.  He 
paced  swiftly  round  several  times,  with  little 
elastic,  menacing  steps,  while  the  smith  pivoted 
slowly  to  correspond.  Then  as  Wilson  took  a 
backward  step  to  induce  Harrison  to  break 


THE   SMITH'S  LAST   BATTLE. 


329 


ground  and  follow  him,  the  older  man  grinned 
and  shook  his  head. 

"You  must  come  to  me,  lad,"  said  he.  "  I'm 
too  old  to  scamper  round  the  ring  after  you.  But 
we  have  the  day  before  us  and  I'll  wait." 

He  may  not  have  expected  his  invitation  to  be 
so  promptly  answered,  but  in  an  instant,  with  a 
panther  spring,  the  west  countryman  was  on  him. 
Smack  !  smack  !  smack  !  Thud  !  thud  !  The  first 
three  were  on  Harrison's  face,  the  last  two  were 
heavy  counters  upon  Wilson's  body.  Back 
danced  the  youngster,  disengaging  himself  in 
beautiful  style,  but  with  two  angry  red  blotches 
over  the  lower  line  of  his  ribs.  "  Blood  for  Wil- 
son !  "  yelled  the  crowd,  and  as  the  smith  faced 
round  to  follow  the  movements  of  his  nimble  ad- 
versary, I  saw  with  a  thrill  that  his  chin  was  crim- 
son and  dripping.  In  came  Wilson  again  with  a 
feint  at  the  mark  and  a  flush  hit  on  Harrison's 
cheek ;  then,  breaking  the  force  of  the  smith's  pon- 
derous right  counter,  he  brought  the  round  to  a 
conclusion  by  slipping  down  upon  the  grass. 

"  First  knock-down  for  Harrison  !  "  roared  a 
thousand  voices,  for  as  many  pounds  would 
change  hands  upon  the  point. 

"  I  appeal  to  the  referee  !  "  cried  Sir  Lothian 
Hume.  "It  was  a  slip  and  not  a  knock-down." 

"  I  give  it  a  slip,"  said  Berkeley  Craven,  and 


330  RODNEY  STONE. 

the  men  walked  to  their  corners  amid  a  general 
shout  of  applause  for  a  spirited  and  well-contested 
opening  round.  Harrison  fumbled  in  his  mouth 
with  his  finger  and  thumb,  and  then  with  a  sharp 
turn  he  wrenched  out  a  tooth  which  he  threw  into 
the  basin.  "  Quite  like  old  times,"  said  he  to 
Belcher. 

"  Have  a  care,  Jack  !  "  whispered  the  anxious 
second.  "  You  got  rather  more  than  you  gave." 

"  Maybe  I  can  carry  more,  too,"  said  he  se- 
renely, while  Caleb  Baldwin  mopped  the  big 
sponge  over  his  face,  and  the  shining  bottom  of 
the  tin  basin  ceased  suddenly  to  glimmer  through 
the  water. 

I  could  gather  from  the  comments  of  the  ex- 
perienced Corinthians  around  me,  and  from  the 
remarks  of  the  crowd  behind,  that  Harrison's 
chance  was  thought  to  have  been  lessened  by  this 
round. 

"  I've  seen  his  old  faults  and  I  haven't  seen  his 
old  merits,"  said  Sir  John  Lade,  our  opponent  of 
the  Brighton  road.  "  He's  as  slow  on  his  feet  and 
with  his  guard  as  ever.  Wilson  hit  him  as  he 
liked." 

"  Wilson  may  hit  him  three  times  to  his  once, 
but  his  one  is  worth  Wilson's  three,"  remarked 
my  uncle.  "  He's  a  natural  fighter,  and  the  other 
an  excellent  sparrer,  but  I  don't  hedge  a  guinea." 


THE    SMITH'S   LAST    BATTLE. 


331 


A  sudden  hush  announced  that  the  men  were 
on  their  feet  again,  and  so  skilfully  had  the  sec- 
onds done  their  work  that  neither  looked  a  jot  the 
worse  for  what  had  passed.  Wilson  led  viciously 
with  his  left,  but  misjudged  his  distance,  receiv- 
ing a  smashing  counter  on  the  mark  in  reply, 
which  sent  him  reeling  and  gasping  to  the  ropes. 
"  Hurrah  for  the  old  one  !  "  yelled  the  mob,  and 
my  uncle  laughed  and  nudged  Sir  John  Lade. 
The  west  countryman  smiled  and  shook  himself 
like  a  dog  from  the  water,  as  with  a  stealthy  step 
he  came  back  to  the  centre  of  the  ring,  where  his 
man  was  still  standing.  Bang  came  Harrison's 
right  upon  the  mark  once  more,  but  Crab  broke 
the  blow  with  his  elbow,  and  jumped  laughing 
away.  Both  men  were  a  little  winded  and  their 
quick,  high  breathing,  with  the  light  patter  of 
their  feet  as  they  danced  round  each  other, 
blended  into  one  continuous,  long-drawn  sound. 
Two  simultaneous  exchanges  with  the  left  made 
a  clap  like  a  pistol-shot,  and  then  as  Harrison 
rushed  in  for  a  fall,  Wilson  slipped  him  and 
over  went  my  old  friend  upon  his  face,  partly 
from  the  impetus  of  his  own  futile  attack  and 
partly  from  a  swinging  half-arm  blow  which  the 
west  countryman  brought  home  upon  his  ear  as 
he  passed. 

"Knock-down  for  Wilson!"  cried  the  referee, 


332  RODNEY   STONE. 

and  the  answering  roar  was  like  the  broadside 
of  a  seventy-four.  Up  went  hundreds  of  curly- 
brimmed  Corinthian  hats  into  the  air,  and  the 
slope  before  us  was  a  bank  of  flushed  and  yelling 
faces.  My  heart  was  cramped  with  my  fears,  and 
I  winced  at  every  blow,  yet  I  was  conscious  also 
of  an  absolute  fascination,  with  a  wild  thrill  of 
fierce  joy  and  a  certain  exultation  in  our  common 
human  nature  which  could  rise  above  pain  and 
fear  in  its  straining  after  the  very  humblest  form 
of  fame. 

Belcher  and  Baldwin  had  pounced  upon  their 
man,  and  had  him  up  and  in  his  corner  in  an  in- 
stant, but,  in  spite  of  the  coolness  with  which 
the  hardy  smith  took  his  punishment  there  was 
immense  exultation  among  the  west  country- 
men. 

"  We've  got  him  !  He's  beat !  He's  beat !  " 
shouted  the  two  Jew  seconds.  "  It's  a  hundred 
to  a  tizzy  on  Gloucester  !  " 

"  Beat,  is  he  ?  "  answered  Belcher.  "  You'll 
need  to  rent  this  field  before  you  can  beat  him, 
for  he'll  stand  a  month  of  that  kind  of  fly- 
flappin'."  He  was  swinging  a  towel  in  front  of 
Harrison  as  he  spoke,  while  Baldwin  mopped 
him  with  the  sponge. 

"  How  is  it  with  you,  Harrison  ?  "  asked  my 
uncle. 


THE    SMITH'S   LAST   BATTLE. 


333 


"  Hearty  as  a  buck,  sir.  It's  as  right  as  the 
day." 

The  cheery  answer  came  with  so  merry  a 
ring  that  the  clouds  cleared  from  my  uncle's 
face. 

"  You  should  recommend  your  man  to  lead 
more,  Tregellis,"  said  Sir  John  Lade.  "  He'll 
never  win  it  unless  he  leads." 

"  He  knows  more  about  the  game  than  you 
or  I  do,  mon  ami !  I'll  let  him  take  his  own 
way." 

"  The  betting  is  three  to  one  against  him 
now,"  said  a  gentleman,  whose  grizzled  mus- 
tache showed  that  he  was  an  officer  of  the  late 
war. 

"  Very  true,  General  Fitzpatrick.  But  you'll 
observe  that  it  is  the  raw  young  bloods  who 
are  giving  the  odds,  and  the  sheenies  who  are 
taking  them.  I  still  stick  to  my  opinion." 

The  two  men  came  briskly  up  to  the  scratch 
at  the  call  of  time,  the  smith  a  little  lumpy  on 
one  side  of  his  head,  but  with  the  same  good- 
humoured  and  yet  menacing  smile  upon  his 
lips.  As  to  Wilson,  he  was  exactly  as  he  had 
begun  in  appearance,  but  twice  I  saw  him 
close  his  lips  sharply  as  if  he  were  in  a  sud- 
den spasm  of  pain,  and  the  blotches  over  his 
ribs  were  darkening  from  scarlet  to  a  sullen 


334  RODNEY  STONE. 

mottled  purple.  He  held  his  guard  somewhat 
lower,  to  screen  this  vulnerable  point,  and  he 
danced  round  his  opponent  with  a  lightness 
that  showed  that  his  wind  had  not  been  im- 
paired by  the  body  blows,  while  the  smith 
still  adopted  the  impassive  tactics  with  which 
he  had  commenced. 

Many  rumours  had  come  up  to  us  from 
the  west  as  to  Crab  Wilson's  fine  science  and 
the  quickness  of  his  hitting,  but  the  truth  sur- 
passed what  had  been  expected  of  him.  In 
this  round  and  the  two  which  followed  he 
showed  a  swiftness  and  accuracy  which  old 
ringsiders  declared  that  Mendoza  in  his  prime 
had  never  surpassed.  He  was  in  and  out  like 
lightning,  and  his  blows  were  heard  and  felt 
rather  than  seen.  But  Harrison  still  took  them 
all  with  the  same  dogged  smile,  occasionally 
getting  in  a  hard  body  blow  in  return,  for 
his  adversary's  height  and  his  position  com- 
bined to  keep  his  face  out  of  danger.  At  the 
end  of  the  fifth  round  the  odds  were  four  to 
one,  and  the  west  countrymen  were  riotous  in 
their  exultation. 

"  What  think  you  now  ? "  cried  the  west 
countryman  behind  me,  and  in  his  excitement 
he  could  get  no  further  save  to  repeat  over 
and  over,  "  What  think  you  now  ?  "  When  in 


THE  SMITH'S   LAST   BATTLE.  335 

the  sixth  round  the  smith  was  peppered  twice 
without  getting  in  a  counter,  and  had  the  worst 
of  the  fall  as  well,  the  fellow  became  inarticu- 
late altogether  and  could  only  huzza  wildly  in 
his  delight.  Sir  Lothian  Hume  was  smiling 
and  nodding  his  head,  while  my  uncle  was 
coldly  impassive,  though  I  was  as  sure  that 
his  heart  was  as  heavy  as  mine. 

"  This  won't  do,  Tregellis,"  said  General 
Fitzpatrick.  "  My  money  is  on  the  old  one, 
but  the  other  is  the  finer  boxer." 

"  My  man  is  un  peu  passe,  but  he  will  come 
through  all  right,"  answered  my  uncle. 

I  saw  that  both  Belcher  and  Baldwin  were 
looking  grave,  and  I  knew  that  we  must  have 
a  change  of  some  sort,  or  the  old  tale  of  youth 
and  age  wrould  be  told  once  more. 

The  seventh  round,  however,  showed  the  re- 
serve strength  of  the  hardy  old  fighter  and 
lengthened  the  faces  of  those  layers  of  odds 
who  had  imagined  that  the  fight  was  practi- 
cally over  and  that  a  few  finishing  rounds 
would  have  given  the  smith  his  coup  de  grace. 
It  was  clear  when  the  two  men  faced  each 
other  that  Wilson  had  made  himself  up  for 
mischief,  and  meant  to  force  the  fighting  and 
maintain  the  lead  which  he  had  gained,  but 
that  gay  gleam  was  not  quenched  in  the  vet- 


336  RODNEY  STONE. 

eran's  eyes,  and  still  the  same  smile  played 
over  his  grim  face.  He  had  become  more 
jaunty,  too,  in  the  swing  of  his  shoulders 
and  the  poise  of  his  head,  and  it  brought  my 
confidence  back  to  me  to  see  the  brisk  way 
in  which  he  squared  up  to  his  man. 

Wilson  led  with  his  left,  but  was  short,  and 
he  only  just  avoided  a  dangerous  right-hander, 
which  whistled  in  at  his  ribs.  "  Bravo,  old  'un ! 
one  of  those  will  be  a  dose  of  laudanum  if  you 
get  it  home,"  cried  Belcher.  There  was  a  pause 
of  shuffling  feet  and  hard  breathing,  broken  by 
the  thud  of  a  tremendous  body  blow  from  Wil- 
son, which  the  smith  stopped  with  the  utmost 
coolness.  Then  again  a  few  seconds  of  silent  ten- 
sion, when  Wilson  led  viciously  at  the  head,  but 
Harrison  took  it  on  his  forearm,  smiling  and 
nodding  at  his  opponent.  "  Get  the  pepperbox 
open  !  "  yelled  Mendoza,  and  Wilson  sprang  in 
to  carry  out  his  instructions,  but  was  hit  out 
again  by  a  heavy  drive  on  the  chest.  "  Now's 
the  time  !  Follow  it  up  !  "  cried  Belcher,  and  in 
rushed  the  smith,  pelting  in  his  half-arm  blows 
and  taking  the  returns  without  a  wince  until 
Crab  Wilson  went  down  exhausted  in  the  cor- 
ner. Both  men  had  their  marks  to  show,  but 
Harrison  had  all  the  best  of  the  rally,  so  it  was 
our  turn  to  throw  our  hats  into  the  air  and  to 


THE   SMITH'S   LAST   BATTLE.  337 

shout  ourselves  hoarse,  while  the  seconds  clapped 
their  man  upon  his  broad  back  as  they  hurried 
him  to  his  corner. 

"  What  think  you  now  ? "  shouted  all  the 
neighbours  of  the  west  countryman,  repeating  his 
own  refrain. 

"  Why,  Dutch  Sam  never  put  in  a  better  rally," 
cried  Sir  John  Lade.  "  What's  the  betting  now, 
Sir  Lothian?" 

"  I  have  laid  all  that  I  intend,  but  I  don't 
think  my  man  can  lose  it."  For  all  that,  the  smile 
had  faded  from  his  face,  and  I  observed  that  he 
glanced  continually  over  his  shoulder  into  the 
crowd  behind  him. 

A  sullen  purple  cloud  had  been  drifting  slowly 
up  from  the  southwest,  though  I  dare  say  that 
out  of  thirty  thousand  folk  there  were  very  few 
who  had  spared  the  time  or  attention  to  mark  it. 
Now  it  suddenly  made  its  presence  apparent  by 
a  few  heavy  drops  of  rain,  thickening  rapidly  into 
a  sharp  shower  which  filled  the  air  with  its  hiss, 
and  rattled  noisily  upon  the  hard  high  hats  of  the 
Corinthians.  Coat  collars  were  turned  up  and 
handkerchiefs  tied  around  necks,  while  the  skins 
of  the  two  men  glistened  with  the  moisture  as 
they  stood  up  to  each  other  once  more.  I  no- 
ticed that  Belcher  whispered  very  earnestly  into 
Harrison's  ear  as  he  rose  from  his  knee,  and  that 


338  RODNEY  STONE. 

the  smith  nodded  his  head  curtly  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  understands  and  approves  his 
orders. 

And  what  those  orders  were  was  instantly 
apparent.  Harrison  was  to  be  turned  from  the 
defender  into  the  attacker.  The  result  of  the 
rally  in  the  last  round  had  convinced  his  seconds 
that  when  it  came  to  give-and-take  hitting  their 
hardy  and  powerful  man  was  likely  to  have  the 
better  of  it.  And  then  on  the  top  of  this  came 
the  rain.  With  the  slippery  grass  the  superior 
activity  of  Wilson  would  be  neutralized,  and  he 
would  find  it  harder  to  avoid  the  rushes  of  his 
opponent.  It  was  in  taking  advantage  of  such 
circumstances  that  the  art  of  ringcraft  lay,  and 
many  a  shrewd  and  vigilant  second  had  won  a 
losing  battle  for  his  man.  "  Go  in,  then !  Go 
in  ! "  whooped  the  two  prize-fighters,  while  every 
backer  in  the  crowd  took  up  the  roar. 

And  Harrison  went  in,  in  such  fashion  that 
no  man  who  saw  him  do  it  will  ever  forget  it. 
Crab  Wilson,  as  game  as  a  pebble,  met  him  with 
a  flush  hit  every  time,  but  no  human  strength  or 
human  science  seemed  capable  of  stopping  the 
terrible  onslaught  of  this  iron  man.  Round  after 
round  he  scrambled  his  way  in,  Slap  !  Bang !  right 
and  left,  every  hit  tremendously  sent  home. 
Sometimes  he  covered  his  own  face  with  his  left, 


THE   SMITH'S   LAST   BATTLE.  339 

and  sometimes  he  disdained  to  use  any  guard  at 
all,  but  his  springing  hits  were  irresistible.  The 
rain  lashed  down  upon  them,  pouring  from  their 
faces  and  running  in  crimson  trickles  over  their 
bodies,  but  neither  gave  any  heed  to  it  save  to 
manoeuvre  always  with  the  view  of  bringing  it 
into  each  other's  eyes.  But  round  after  round 
the  west  countryman  fell,  and  round  after  round 
the  betting  rose  until  the  odds  were  higher  in  our 
favour  than  ever  they  had  been  against  us. 
With  a  sinking  heart,  filled  with  pity  and  ad- 
miration for  these  two  gallant  men,  I  longed 
that  every  bout  might  be  the  last,  and  yet  the 
"  Time ! "  was  hardly  out  of  Jackson's  mouth 
before  they  had  both  sprung  from  their  sec- 
onds' knees  with  laughter  upon  their  mutilated 
faces  and  chaffing  words  upon  their  bleeding 
lips. 

It  may  have  been  a  humble  object  lesson,  but 
I  give  you  my  word  that  many  a  time  in  my  life 
I  have  braced  myself  to  a  hard  task  by  the 
remembrance  of  that  morning  upon  Crawley 
Downs,  asking  myself  if  my  manhood  were  so 
weak  that  I  could  not  do  for  my  country  or  for 
those  whom  I  loved  as  much  as  these  two  would 
do  for  a  paltry  stake,  and  for  their  own  credit 
among  their  fellows.  Such  a  spectacle  may  bru- 
talize those  who  are  brutal,  but  I  say  that  there  is 


340  RODNEY   STONE. 

a  spiritual  side  to  it  also,  and  that  the  sight  of  the 
utmost  human  limit  of  endurance  and  courage  is 
one  which  bears  a  lesson  of  its  own. 

But  if  the  ring  can  breed  bright  virtues  it  is 
but  a  partisan  who  can  deny  that  it  can  be  the 
mother  of  black  vices  also,  and  we  were  destined 
that  morning  to  have  a  sight  of  each.  It  so 
chanced  that  as  the  battle  went  against  his  man 
my  eyes  stole  round  very  often  to  note  the  ex- 
pression upon  Sir  Lothian  Hume's  face,  for  I 
knew  how  fearlessly  he  had  laid  the  odds,  and  I 
understood  that  his  fortunes  as  well  as  his  cham- 
pion were  going  down  before  the  swashing  blows 
of  the  old  bruiser. 

The  confident  smile  with  which  he  had 
watched  the  opening  rounds  had  long  vanished 
from  his  lips,  and  his  cheeks  had  turned  of  a  sal- 
low pallor,  while  his  small  beadlike  gray  eyes 
looked  furtively  from  under  his  craggy  brows, 
and  more  than  once  he  burst  into  savage  impre- 
cations when  Wilson  was  beaten  to  the  ground. 
But  especially  I  noticed  that  his  chin  was  always 
coming  round  to  his  shoulder,  and  that  at  the 
end  of  every  round  he  sent  keen  little  glances 
flying  backward  into  the  crowd.  For  some 
time  amid  the  immense  hillside  of  faces  which 
banked  themselves  up  on  the  slope  behind  us  I 
was  unable  to  pick  out  the  exact  point  at  which 


THE  SMITH'S  LAST   BATTLE.  341 

his  gaze  was  directed.  But  at  last  I  succeeded 
in  following  it. 

A  very  tall  man,  who  showed  a  pair  of  broad 
bottle-green  shoulders  high  above  his  neighbours, 
was  looking  very  hard  in  our  direction,  and  I 
assured  myself  that  a  quick  exchange  of  almost 
imperceptible  signals  was  going  on  between  him 
and  the  Corinthian  baronet.  I  became  conscious 
also  as  I  watched  this  stranger  that  the  cluster  of 
men  around  him  were  the  roughest  elements  of 
the  whole  assembly — fierce,  vicious-looking  fel- 
lows, with  cruel,  debauched  faces,  who  howled 
like  a  pack  of  wolves  at  every  blow,  and  yelled 
execrations  at  Harrison  whenever  he  walked 
across  to  his  corner.  So  turbulent  were  they 
that  I  saw  the  ringkeepers  whisper  together  and 
glance  up  in  their  direction,  as  if  preparing  for 
trouble  in  store,  but  none  of  them  had  realized 
how  near  it  was  to  breaking  out,  or  how  danger- 
ous it  might  prove. 

Thirty  rounds  had  been  fought  in  an  hour  and 
twenty-five  minutes,  and  the  rain  was  pelting 
down  harder  than  ever.  A  thick  steam  rose  from 
the  two  fighters,  and  the  ring  was  a  pool  of  mud. 
Repeated  falls  had  turned  the  men  brown,  with  a 
horrible  mottling  of  crimson  blotches.  Round 
after  round  had  ended  by  Crab  Wilson  going 
down,  and  it  was  evident  even  to  my  inexperi- 


342  RODNEY   STONE. 

enced  eye  that  he  was  weakening  rapidly.  He 
leaned  heavily  upon  the  two  Jews  when  they  led 
him  to  his  corner,  and  he  reeled  when  their  sup- 
port was  withdrawn.  Yet  his  science  had 
through  long  practice  become  an  automatic  thing 
with  him,  so  that  he  stopped  and  hit  with  less 
power  but  with  as  great  accuracy  as  ever.  Even 
now  a  casual  observer  might  have  thought  that 
he  had  the  best  of  the  battle,  for  the  smith  was 
far  the  more  horribly  marked,  but  there  was  a 
wild  stare  in  the  west  countryman's  eyes  and  a 
strange  catch  in  his  breathing  which  told  us  that 
it  is  not  the  most  dangerous  blow  which  shows 
upon  the  surface.  A  heavy  cross-buttock  at  the 
end  of  the  thirty-first  round  shook  the  breath 
from  his  body,  and  he  came  up  for  the  thirty-sec- 
ond with  the  same  jaunty  gallantry  as  ever,  but 
with  the  dazed  expression  of  a  man  whose  wind 
has  been  utterly  smashed. 

"  He's  got  the  roly-polies  !  "  cried  Belcher. 
"  You  have  it  your  own  way  now  ! " 

"  I'll  vight  for  a  week  yet !  "  gasped  Wilson. 

"  Damme !  I  like  his  style,"  cried  Sir  John 
Lade.  "  No  shifting,  nothing  shy,  no  hugging 
nor  hauling.  It's  a  shame  to  let  him  fight.  Take 
the  brave  fellow  away  !  " 

"  Take  him  away  !  Take  him  away  !  "  echoed 
a  hundred  voices. 


THE   SMITH'S   LAST   BATTLE. 


343 


"  I  von't  be  taken  away  !  Who  dares  say 
so?"  cried  Wilson,  who  was  back  after  another 
fall  upon  his  second's  knee. 

"  His  heart  won't  suffer  him  to  cry  '  Enough  ! ' ' 
said    General    Fitzpatrick.      "  As  his  patron,  Sir 
Lothian,   you   should   direct    the   sponge   to    be 
thrown  up." 

"  You  think  he  can't  win  it?  " 

"  He  is  hopelessly  beat,  sir." 

"  You  don't  know  him.  He's  a  glutton  of  the 
first  water." 

"A  gamer  man  never  pulled  his  shirt  off,  but 
the  other  is  too  strong  for  him." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  believe  that  he  can  fight  another 
ten  rounds."  He  half  turned  as  he  spoke,  and  I 
saw  him  throw  up  his  left  arm  with  a  singular 
gesture  into  the  air. 

"  Cut  the  ropes !  Fair  play !  Wait  till  the 
rain  stops  !  "  roared  a  stentorian  voice  behind  me, 
and  I  saw  that  it  came  from  the  big  man  with  the 
bottle-green  coat.  His  cry  was  a  signal,  for,  like 
a  thunderclap,  there  came  a  hundred  voices  shout- 
ing together :  "  Fair  play  for  Gloucester  !  Break 
the  ring !  Break  the  ring  !  " 

Jackson  had  called  "  Time ! "  and  the  two 
mud-plastered  men  were  already  upon  their  feet, 
but  the  interest  had  suddenly  changed  from  the 

fight  to  the  audience.     A  succession  of   heaves 
23 


344 


RODNEY   STONE. 


from  the  back  of  the  crowd  had  sent  a  series  of 
long  ripples  running  through  it,  all  the  heads 
swaying  rhythmically  in  one  direction  like  a 
wheatfield  in  a  squall.  With  every  impulsion  the 
oscillation  increased,  those  in  front  trying  vainly 
to  steady  themselves  against  the  rushes  from  be- 
hind, until  suddenly  there  came  a  sharp  snap,  two 
white  stakes  with  earth  clinging  to  their  points 
flew  into  the  outer  ring,  and  a  spray  of  people, 
dashed  from  the  solid  wave  behind,  were  thrown 
against  the  line  of  beaters-out.  Down  came  the 
long  horsewhips,  swayed  by  the  most  vigorous 
arms  in  England,  but  the  wincing  and  shouting 
victims  had  no  sooner  scrambled  back  a  few 
yards  from  the  merciless  cuts  before  a  fresh 
charge  from  the  rear  hurled  them  once  more  into 
the  arms  of  the  prize-fighters. 

Many  threw  themselves  down  upon  the  turf 
and  allowed  successive  waves  to  pass  over  their 
bodies,  while  others,  driven  wild  by  the  blows,  re- 
turned them  with  their  hunting  crops  and  walk- 
ing canes.  And  then,  as  half  the  crowd  strained 
to  the  left  and  half  to  the  right  to  avoid  the  pres- 
sure from  behind,  the  vast  mass  was  suddenly 
reft  in  twain,  and  through  the  gap  surged  the 
rough  fellows  from  behind,  all  armed  with  loaded 
sticks,  and  yelling  for  "  Fair  play  and  Glouces- 
ter !  "  Their  determined  rush  carried  the  prize- 


THE   SMITH'S   LAST    BATTLE. 


345 


fighters  before  them,  the  inner  ropes  snapped  like 
threads,  and  in  an  instant  the  ring  was  a  swirling, 
seething  mass  of  figures,  whips  and  sticks  falling 
and  clattering,  while,  face  to  face  in  the  middle  of 
all,  so  wedged  that  they  could  neither  advance 
nor  retreat,  the  smith  and  the  west  countryman 
continued  their  long-drawn  battle,  as  oblivious  of 
the  chaos  raging  around  them  as  two  bulldogs 
who  had  got  each  other  by  the  throat.  The  driv- 
ing rain,  the  cursing  and  screams  of  pain,  the 
swish  of  the  blows,  the  yelling  of  orders  and  ad- 
vice, the  heavy  smell  of  the  damp  cloth — every 
incident  of  that  scene  of  my  early  youth  comes 
back  to  me  now,  in  my  old  age,  as  clearly  as  if  it 
had  been  but  yesterday. 

It  was  not  easy  for  us  to  observe  anything  at 
the  time,  however,  for  we  were  ourselves  in  the 
midst  of  the  frantic  crowd,  swaying  about  and 
carried  occasionally  quite  off  our  feet,  but  endeav- 
ouring to  keep  our  places  behind  Jackson  and 
Berkeley  Craven,  who,  with  sticks  and  whips 
meeting  over  their  heads,  were  still  calling  the 
rounds  and  superintending  the  fight. 

"  The  ring's  broken ! "  shouted  Sir  Lothian 
Hume.  "  I  appeal  to  the  referee !  The  fight  is 
null  and  void." 

"  You  villain  !  "  cried  my  uncle,  hotly.  "  This 
is  your  doing !  " 


346  RODNEY   STONE. 

"  You  have  already  an  account  to  answer  for 
with  me,"  said  Hume  with  his  sinister  sneer,  and 
as  he  spoke  he  was  swept  by  the  rush  of  the 
crowd  into  my  uncle's  very  arms.  The  two 
men's  faces  were  not  more  than  a  few  inches 
apart,  and  Sir  Lothian's  bold  eyes  had  to  sink  be- 
fore the  imperious  scorn  which  gleamed  coldly  in 
those  of  my  uncle. 

"  We  will  settle  our  accounts,  never  fear, 
though  I  degrade  myself  by  meeting  such  a 
blackleg. — What  is  it,  Craven  ?  " 

"  We  shall  have  to  declare  a  draw,  Tregellis." 

"  My  man  has  the  fight  in  hand." 

"  I  can  not  help  it.  I  can  not  attend  to  my 
duties  when  every  moment  I  am  cut  over  with  a 
whip  or  a  stick." 

Jackson  suddenly  made  a  wild  dash  into  the 
crowd,  but  returned  with  empty  hands  and  a  rue- 
ful face. 

"  They've  stolen  my  timekeeper's  watch  ! "  he 
cried.  "  A  little  cove  snatched  it  out  of  my  hand." 

My  uncle  clapped  his  hand  to  his  fob. 

"  Mine  has  gone  also,"  he  cried. 

"  Draw  it  at  once  or  your  man  will  get  hurt," 
said  Jackson.  And  we  saw  that  as  the  undaunted 
smith  stood  up  to  Wilson  for  another  round  a 
dozen  rough  fellows  were  clustering  round  him 
with  bludgeons. 


"  I  hope  I  have  not  hurt  you  much. 


THE   SMITH'S   LAST   BATTLE.  347 

"  Do  you  consent  to  a  draw,  Sir  Lothian 
Hume  ? " 

"  I  do." 

"  And  you,  Sir  Charles  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  The  ring  is  gone." 

"  That  is  no  fault  of  mine." 

"  Well,  I  see  no  help  for  it.  As  referee  I 
order  that  the  men  be  withdrawn,  and  that  the 
stakes  be  returned  to  their  owners." 

"  A  draw  !  a  draw  !  "  shrieked  every  one,  and 
the  crowd  in  an  instant  dispersed  in  every  direc- 
tion, the  pedestrians  running  to  get  a  good  lead 
upon  the  London  road,  and  the  Corinthians  in 
search  of  their  horses  and  carriages.  Harrison 
ran  over  to  Wilson's  corner  and  shook  him  by  the 
hand. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  hurt  you  much." 

"  I'm  hard  put  to  it  to  stand.  How  are 
you?" 

"  My  head's  singin'  like  a  kettle.  It  was  the 
rain  that  helped  me." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  I  had  you  beaten  one  time. 
I  never  wish  a  better  battle." 

"  Nor  me,  either.     Good-by." 

And  so  those  two  brave-hearted  fellows  made 
their  way  amid  the  yelping  roughs,  like  two 
wounded  lions  amid  a  pack  of  wolves  and 


348 


RODNEY   STONE. 


jackals.  I  say  again  that  if  the  ring  has  fallen 
low,  it  is  not  in  the  main  the  fault  of  the 
men  who  have  done  the  fighting,  but  it  lies 
at  the  door  of  ringside  parasites  and  ruffians, 
who  are  as  far  below  the  honest  pugilist  as 
the  welsher  and  the  blackleg  are  below  the 
noble  race  horse  which  serves  them  as  a  pro- 
test for  their  villainies. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

CLIFFE   ROYAL. 

MY  uncle  was  humanely  anxious  to  get  Har- 
rison to  bed  as  soon  as  possible,  for  the  smith, 
although  he  laughed  at  his  own  injuries,  had 
none  the  less  been  severely  punished. 

"  Don't  you  dare  ever  to  ask  my  leave  to 
fight  again,  Jack  Harrison ! "  said  his  wife  as 
she  looked  ruefully  at  his  battered  face.  "  Why, 
it's  worse  than  when  you  beat  Black  Baruk,  and 
if  it  weren't  for  your  topcoat  I  couldn't  swear 
you  were  the  man  who  led  me  to  the  altar. 
If  the  King  of  England  ask  you,  I'll  never  let 
you  do  it  more  !  " 

"  Well,  old  lass,  I  give  my  davy  that  I  never 
will.  It's  best  that  I  leave  fightin'  before  fight- 
in'  leaves  me."  He  screwed  up  his  face  as  he 
took  a  sup  from  Sir  Charles's  brandy  flask. 
"  It's  fine  liquor,  sir,  but  it  gets  into  my  cut 
lips  most  cruel — Why,  here's  John  Cummings, 
of  the  Friar's  Oak  Inn,  as  I'm  a  sinner,  and 

349 


350 


RODNEY   STONE. 


seekin*  for  a  mad  doctor,  to  judge  by  the  look 
of  him." 

It  was  certainly  a  most  singular  figure  who 
was  approaching  us  over  the  moor.  With  the 
flushed,  dazed  face  of  a  man  who  is  just  recov- 
ering from  recent  intoxication,  the  landlord  was 
tearing  madly  about,  his  hat  gone,  and  his  hair 
and  beard  flying  in  the  wind.  He  ran  in  little 
zigzags  from  one  knot  of  people  to  another, 
while  his  peculiar  appearance  drew  a  running 
fire  of  witticisms  as  he  went  so  that  he  re- 
minded me  irresistibly  of  a  snipe  skimming 
along  through  a  line  of  guns.  We  saw  him 
stop  for  an  instant  by  the  yellow  barouche  and 
hand  something  to  Sir  Lothian  Hume.  Then 
on  he  came  again,  until  at  last  catching  sight 
of  us  he  gave  a  cry  of  joy  and  ran  for  us  full 
speed,  with  a  note  held  out  at  arm's  length. 

"  You're  a  nice  cove,  too,  John  Cummings," 
said  Harrison,  reproachfully.  "  Didn't  I  tell 
you  not  to  let  a  drop  pass  your  lips  until 
you  had  given  your  message  to  Sir  Charles  ? " 

"  I  ought  to  be  pole-axed,  I  ought,"  he  cried, 
in  bitter  repentance.  "  I  asked  for  you,  Sir 
Charles,  as  I'm  a  livin'  man  I  did,  but  you 
weren't  there,  and  what  with  bein'  so  pleased 
at  gettin*  such  odds  when  I  knew  Harrison 
was  goin'  to  fight,  an'  what  with  the  land- 


CLIFFE    ROYAL.  35! 

lord  at  the  George  wantin'  me  to  try  his  own 
specials,  I  let  my  senses  go  clear  away  from 
me.  And  now  it's  only  after  the  fight  is  over 
that  I  see  you,  Sir  Charles,  an'  if  you  lay 
that  whip  over  my  back  it's  only  what  I  de- 
serve." 

But  my  uncle  was  paying  no  attention  what- 
ever to  the  voluble  self-reproaches  of  the  land- 
lord. He  had  opened  the  note  and  was  read- 
ing it  with  a  slight  raising  of  the  eyebrows, 
which  was  almost  the  very  highest  note  in  his 
limited  emotional  gamut. 

"  What  make  you  of  this,  nephew  ?"  he  asked, 
handing  it  to  me. 

This  was  what  I  read  : 

"  SIR  CHARLES  TREGELLIS — For  God's  sake, 
come  at  once,  when  this  reaches  you,  to  Cliffe 
Royal,  and  tarry  as  little  as  possible  upon  the 
way !  You  will  see  me  there,  and  you  will 
hear  much  which  concerns  you  deeply.  I  pray 
you  to  come  as  soon  as  may  be,  and  until 
then  I  remain  him  whom  you  knew  as 

"JAMES  HARRISON." 

"  Well,  nephew  ?  "  asked  my  uncle. 
"  Why,    sir,    I    can    not    tell    what    it    may 
mean." 

"  Who  gave  it  to  you,  sirrah  ?  " 


352 


RODNEY   STONE. 


"  It  was  young  Jim  Harrison  himself,  sir," 
said  the  landlord,  "  though  indeed  I  scarce 
knew  him  at  first,  for  he  looked  like  his  own 
ghost.  He  was  so  eager  that  it  would  reach 
you  that  he  would  not  leave  me  until  the 
horse  was  harnessed  and  I  started  upon  my 
way.  There  was  one  note  for  you  and  one 
for  Sir  Lothian  Hume,  and  I  wish  to  God  he 
had  chosen  a  better  messenger ! " 

"  This  is  a  mystery,  indeed,"  said  my  uncle, 
bending  his  brows  over  the  note.  "  What  should 
he  be  doing  at  that  house  of  ill-omen?  And 
why  does  he  sign  himself  '  him  whom  you 
knew  as  Jim  Harrison'  ? — By  what  other  style 
should  I  know  him  ? — Harrison,  you  can  throw 
a  light  upon  this ! — You,  Mrs.  Harrison,  I  see 
by  your  face  that  you  understand  it !  " 

"  Maybe  we  do,  Sir  Charles,  but  we  are 
plain  folk,  my  Jack  and  I,  and  we  go  as  far 
as  we  see  our  way,  and  when  we  don't  see 
our  way  any  longer  we  just  stop.  We've  been 
goin'  this  twenty  year,  but  now  we'll  draw 
aside  and  let  our  betters  get  to  the  front;  so 
if  you  wish  to  find  what  that  note  means  I 
can  only  advise  you  to  do  what  you  are 
asked,  and  to  drive  over  to  Cliffe  Royal, 
where  you  will  find  out." 

My  uncle  put  the  note  into  his  pocket. 


CLIFFE    ROYAL.  353 

"  I  don't  move  until  I  have  seen  you  safely  in 
the  hands  of  the  surgeon,  Harrison." 

"  Never  mind  for  me,  sir.  The  missus  and  me 
can  drive  down  to  Crawley  in  the  gig,  and  a  yard 
of  stickin'  plaster  and  a  raw  steak  will  soon  set 
me  to  rights." 

But  my  uncle  was  by  no  means  to  be  per- 
suaded, and  he  drove  the  pair  into  Crawley — his 
wife  in  the  very  best  quarters  which  money  could 
procure.  Then,  after  a  hasty  luncheon,  we  turned 
the  mares'  heads  for  the  south. 

"  This  ends  my  connection  with  the  ring, 
nephew,"  said  my  uncle.  "  I  perceive  that  there 
is  no  possible  means  by  which  it  can  be  kept 
pure  from  roguery.  I  have  been  cheated  and 
befooled  ;  but  a  man  learns  wisdom  at  last,  and 
never  again  do  I  give  countenance  to  a  prize- 
fight." 

Had  I  been  older  or  he  less  formidable,  I 
might  have  said  what  was  in  my  heart  and 
begged  him  to  give  up  other  things  also,  to  come 
out  from  those  shallow  circles  in  which-  he  lived, 
and  to  find  some  work  that  was  worthy  of  his 
strong  brain  and  his  good  heart.  But  the 
thought  had  hardly  formed  itself  in  my  mind  be- 
fore he  had  dropped  his  serious  vein  and  was 
chatting  away  about  some  new  silver-mounted 
harness  which  he  intended  to  spring  upon  the 


354  RODNEY  STONE. 

Mall,  and  about  the  match  for  a  thousand  guin- 
eas which  he  meant  to  make  between  his  filly 
Ethelberta  and  Lord  Doncaster's  famous  three- 
year-old,  Aurelius. 

We  had  got  as  far  as  Whiteman's  Green, 
which  is  rather  more  than  midway  between  Craw- 
ley  Down  and  Friar's  Oak,  when,  looking  back- 
ward, I  saw  far  down  the  road  the  gleam  of  the 
sun  upon  a  high,  yellow  carriage.  Sir  Lothian 
Hume  was  following  us. 

"  He  has  had  the  same  summons  as  we,  and  is 
bound  for  the  same  destination,"  said  my  uncle, 
glancing  over  his  shoulder  at  the  distant  ba- 
rouche. "  We  are  both  wanted  at  Cliffe  Royal — 
we,  the  two  survivors  of  that  black  business. 
And  it  is  Jim  Harrison  of  all  people  who  calls  us 
there.  Nephew,  I  have  had  an  eventful  life,  but 
I  feel  as  if  the  very  strangest  scene  of  it  were 
waiting  for  me  among  those  trees." 

He  whipped  up  the  mares,  and  now  from  the 
curve  of  the  road  we  could  see  the  high,  dark 
pinnacles  of  the  old  manor  house  shooting  up  above 
the  ancient  oaks  which  ring  it  round.  The  sight 
of  it  with  its  blood-stained  and  ghost-blasted 
reputation  would  in  itself  have  been  enough  to 
send  a  thrill  through  my  nerves,  but  when  the 
words  of  my  uncle  made  me  suddenly  realize 
that  this  strange  summons  was  indeed  for  the 


CLIFFE    ROYAL. 


355 


two  men  who  were  concerned  in  that  old-world 
tragedy,  and  that  it  was  the  playmate  of  my 
youth  who  had  sent  it,  I  caught  my  breath  as  I 
seemed  vaguely  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  some  por- 
tentous thing  forming  itself  in  front  of  us.  The 
rusted  gates  between  the  crumbling  heraldic  pil- 
lars were  folded  back,  and  my  uncle  flicked  the 
mares  impatiently  as  we  flew  up  the  weed-grown 
avenue,  until  he  pulled  them  on  their  haunches 
before  the  time-blotched  steps.  The  front  door 
was  open,  and  Boy  Jim  was  waiting  there  to 
meet  us. 

But  it  was  a  different  Boy  Jim  from  him 
whom  I  had  known  and  loved.  There  was  a 
change  in  him  somewhere — a  change  so  marked 
that  it  was  the  first  thing  that  I  noticed,  and 
yet  so  subtle  that  I  could  not  put  words  to 
it.  He  was  not  better  dressed  than  of  old,  for 
I  well  knew  the  old  brown  suit  that  he  wore. 
He  was  not  less  comely,  for  his  training  had 
left  him  the  very  model  of  what  a  man  should 
be.  And  yet  there  was  a  change,  a  touch  of  dig- 
nity in  the  expression,  a  suggestion  of  confidence 
in  the  bearing  which  seemed,  now  that  it  was  sup- 
plied, to  be  the  one  thing  which  had  been  needed 
to  give  him  harmony  and  finish.  Somehow,  in 
spite  of  his  prowess,  his  old  school  name  of 
"  Boy  "  had  clung  very  naturally  to  him,  until 


356 


RODNEY   STONE. 


that  instant  when  I  saw  him  standing  in  his  self- 
contained  and  magnificent  manhood  in  the  door- 
way of  the  ancient  house.  A  woman  stood  be- 
side him,  her  hand  resting  upon  his  shoulder, 
and  I  saw  that  it  was  Miss  Hinton,  of  Anstey 
Cross. 

"  You  remember  me,  Sir  Charles  Tregellis," 
said  she,  coming  forward,  as  we  sprang  down 
from  the  curricle. 

My  uncle  looked  hard  at  her  with  a  puzzled 
face. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  I  have  the  privilege, 
madame.  And  yet " 

"  Polly  Hinton,  of  the  Hay  market.  You  surely 
can  not  have  forgotten  Polly  Hinton?" 

"  Forgotten !  Why,  we  have  mourned  for 
you  in  Fop's  Alley  for  more  years  than  I  care 
to  think  of.  But  what  in  the  name  of  won- 
der  ! " 

"  I  was  privately  married  and  I  retired  from 
the  stage.  I  want  you  to  forgive  me  for  taking 
Jim  away  from  you  last  night." 

"  It  was  you,  then  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  stronger  claim  even  than  you  could 
have.  You  were  his  patron.  I  was  his  mother." 
She  drew  his  head  down  to  hers  as  she  spoke,  and 
there  with  their  cheeks  together  were  the  two 
faces,  the  one  stamped  with  the  waning  beauty  of 


A  woman  stood  beside  him. 


CLIFFE    ROYAL.  357 

womanhood,  the  other  with  the  waxing  strength 
of  man,  and  yet,  so  alike  in  the  dark  eyes,  the 
blue-black  hair,  and  the  broad  white  brow,  that  I 
marvelled  that  I  had  never  read  her  secret  on  the 
first  days  that  I  had  seen  them  together.  "  Yes," 
she  cried,  "  he  is  my  own  boy,  and  he  saved  me 
from  what  is  worse  than  death,  as  your  nephew 
Rodney  could  tell  you.  Yet  my  lips  were  sealed, 
and  it  was  only  last  night  that  I  could  tell  him 
that  it  was  his  mother  whom  he  had  brought 
back  by  his  gentleness  and  his  patience  into  the 
sweetness  of  life." 

"  Hush,  mother  !  "  said  Jim,  turning  his  lips  to 
her  cheek.  "  There  are  some  things  which  are 
between  ourselves. — But  tell  me,  Sir  Charles, 
how  went  the  fight  ?  " 

"  Your  uncle  would  have  won  it,  but  the 
roughs  broke  the  ring." 

"  He  is  no  uncle  of  mine,  Sir  Charles,  but  he 
has  been  the  best  and  truest  friend  both  to  me 
and  my  father  that  ever  the  world  could  afford. 
I  only  know  one  as  true,"  he  continued,  taking 
me  by  the  hand,  "  and  dear  old  Rodney  Stone 
is  his  name. — But  I  trust  he  was  not  much 
hurt?" 

"  A  week  or  two  will  set  him  right.  But  I 
can  not  pretend  to  understand  how  this  matter 
stands,  and  you  must  allow  me  to  say  that  I  have 


358  RODNEY  STONE. 

not  heard  you  advance  anything  yet  which  seems 
to  justify  you  in  abandoning  your  engagements 
at  a  moment's  notice." 

"  Come  in,  Sir  Charles,  and  I  am  convinced 
that  you  will  acknowledge  that  I  could  not  have 
done  otherwise. — But  here,  if  I  mistake  not,  is 
Sir  Lothian  Hume." 

The  yellow  barouche  had  swung  into  the 
avenue,  and  a  few  moments  later  the  weary,  pant- 
ing horses  had  pulled  up  behind  our  curricle. 
Sir  Lothian  sprang  out,  looking  as  black  as  a 
thundercloud. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,  Corcoran,"  said  he,  and 
I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  bottle-green  coat  which 
told  me  who  was  his  travelling  companion. 
"  Well,"  he  continued,  looking  round  him  with 
an  insolent  stare,  "  I  should  vastly  like  to  know 
who  has  the  insolence  to  give  me  so  pressing 
an  invitation  to  visit  my  own  house,  and  what  in 
the  devil  you  mean  by  daring  to  trespass  upon 
my  grounds !  " 

"  I  promise  you  that  you  will  understand  this 
and  a  good  deal  more  before  we  part,  Sir  Lo- 
thian," said  Jim,  with  a  curious  smile  playing  over 
his  face.  "  If  you  will  only  follow  me  I  will  en- 
deavour to  make  it  all  clear  to  you." 

With  his  mother's  hand  in  his  own  he  led  us 
into  that  ill-omened  room,  where  the  cards  were 


CLIFFE   ROYAL.  359 

still  heaped  upon    the  sideboard    and  the  dark 
shadow  lurked  in  the  corner  of  the  ceiling-. 

"  Now,  sirrah,  your  explanation !  "  cried  Sir 
Lothian,  standing,  with  his  arms  folded,  by  the 
door. 

"  My  first  explanation  I  owe  to  you,  Sir 
Charles,"  said  Jim,  and  as  I  listened  to  his  voice 
and  noted  his  manner  I  could  not  but  admire  the 
effect  which  the  company  of  her  whom  he  now 
knew  to  be  his  mother  had  had  upon  a  rude  coun- 
try lad.  "  I  wish  to  tell  you  what  occurred  last 
night." 

"  I  will  tell  it  for  you,  Jim,"  said  his  mother. 
— "  You  must  know,  Sir  Charles,  that  though  my 
son  knew  nothing  of  his  parents,  we  were  both 
alive,  and  had  never  lost  sight  of  him.  For  my 
part,  I  let  him  have  his  own  way  in  going  to  Lon- 
don and  taking  up  this  challenge.  It  was  only 
yesterday  that  it  came  to  the  ears  of  his  father, 
who  would  have  none  of  it.  He  was  in  the 
weakest  health,  and  his  wishes  were  not  to  be 
gainsaid.  He  ordered  me  to  go  at  once  and  to 
bring  his  son  to  his  side.  I  was  at  my  wits' 
end,  for  I  was  sure  that  Jim  would  never  come 
unless  a  substitute  were  provided  for  him.  I 
went  to  the  kind,  good  couple  who  had  brought 
him  up,  and  I  told  him  how  matters  stood. 

"  Mrs.  Harrison  loved  Jim  as  if  he  had  been 

24 


360  RODNEY  STONE. 

her  own  son,  and  her  husband  loved  mine,  so 
they  came  to  my  help,  and  may  God  bless  them  for 
their  kindness  to  a  distracted  wife  and  mother ! 
Harrison  would  take  Jim's  place  if  Jim  would  go 
to  his  father.  Then  I  drove  to  Crawley.  I  found 
out  which  was  Jim's  room,  and  I  spoke  to  him 
through  the  window,  for  I  was  sure  that  those 
who  had  backed  him  would  not  let  him  go.  I 
told  him  that  I  was  his  mother.  I  told  him  who 
was  his  father.  I  said  that  I  had  my  phaeton 
ready,  and  that  he  might,  for  all  I  knew,  be  only 
in  time  to  receive  the  dying  blessing  of  that  par- 
ent whom  he  had  never  known.  Still  the  boy 
would  not  go  until  he  had  my  assurance  that 
Harrison  would  take  his  place." 

"  Why  did  he  not  leave  a  message  with  Bel- 
cher?" 

"  My  head  was  in  a  whirl,  Sir  Charles.  To 
find  a  father  and  a  mother,  a  new  name  and 
a  new  rank  in  a  few  minutes,  might  turn  a 
stronger  brain  than  ever  mine  was.  My  moth- 
er begged  me  to  come  with  her,  and  I  went. 
The  phaeton  was  waiting,  but  we  had  scarcely 
started  when  some  fellow  seized  the  horse's 
head  and  a  couple  of  ruffians  attacked  us. 
One  of  them  I  beat  over  the  head  with  the 
butt  of  the  whip,  so  that  he  dropped  the 
cudgel  with  which  he  was  about  to  strike  me  ; 


CLIFFE    ROYAL.  361 

then,  lashing  the  horse,  I  shook  off  the  others 
and  got  safely  away.  I  can  not  imagine  who 
they  were  or  why  they  should  molest  us." 

"  Perhaps  Sir  Lothian  Hume  could  tell  you," 
said  my  uncle. 

Our  enemy  said  nothing,  but  his  little  gray 
eyes  slid  round  with  a  most  murderous  glance 
in  our  direction. 

"  After  I  had  come  here  and  seen  my  father, 
I  went  down " 

My  uncle  stopped  him  with  a  cry  of  aston- 
ishment. 

"  What  did  you  say,  young  man  ?  You  came 
here  and  you  saw  your  father.  Here  at  Cliffe 
Royal  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

My  uncle  had  turned  very  pale. 

"  In  God's  name  then  tell  us  who  your 
father*  is  !  " 

Jim  made  no  answer,  save  to  point  over  our 
shoulders,  and  glancing  round  we  became  aware 
that  two  people  had  entered  the  room  through 
the  door  which  led  to  the  bedroom  stair.  The 
one  I  recognised  in  an  instant.  That  impassive, 
masklike  face  and  demure  manner  could  only 
belong  to  Ambrose,  the  former  valet  of  my 
uncle.  The  other  was  a  very  different  and 
even  more  singular  figure.  He  was  a  tall  man, 


362  RODNEY  STONE. 

clad  in  a  dark  dressing-gown,  and  leaning  heav- 
ily upon  a  stick.  His  long,  bloodless  counte- 
nance was  so  thin  and  so  white  that  it  gave  the 
strangest  illusion  of  transparency.  Only  within 
the  folds  of  a  shroud  have  I  ever  seen  so  wan 
a  face.  The  brindled  hair  and  the  rounded 
back  gave  the  impression  of  advanced  age,  and 
it  was  only  the  dark  brows  and  the  bright, 
alert  eyes  glancing  out  from  beneath  them 
which  made  me  doubt  whether  it  was  really 
an  old  man  who  stood  before  us. 

There  was  an  instant  of  silence,  broken  by 
a  deep  oath  from  Sir  Lothian  Hume. 

"  Lord  Avon,  by  God  !  "  he  cried. 

"  Very  much  at  your  service,  gentlemen," 
answered  the  strange  figure  in  the  dressing- 
gown. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

LORD   AVON. 

MY  uncle  was  an  impassive  man  by  nature, 
and  had  become  more  so  by  the  tradition  of 
the  society  in  which  he  lived.  He  could  have 
turned  a  card  upon  which  his  fortune  depended 
without  the  twitch  of  a  muscle,  and  I  had 
seen  him  myself  driving  to  imminent  death  on 
the  Godstone  road  with  as  calm  a  face  as  if 
he  were  out  for  his  daily  airing  in  the  Mall. 
But  now  the  shock  which  had  come  upon  him 
was  so  great  that  he  could  only  stand  with 
white  cheeks  and  staring,  incredulous  eyes. 
Twice  I  saw  him  open  his  lips,  and  twice  he 
put  his  hand  up  to  his  throat  as  though  a 
barrier  had  risen  between  himself  and  his  ut- 
terance. Finally,  he  took  a  sudden  little  run 
forward  with  both  his  hands  thrown  out  in 
greeting. 

"  Ned  !  "  he  cried. 

But  the  strange  man  who  stood   before  him 

folded  his  arms  over  his  breast. 

363 


364  RODNEY  STONE. 

"  No,  Charles,"  said  he. 

My  uncle  stopped  and  looked  at  him  in 
amazement. 

"  Surely,  Ned,  you  have  a  greeting  for  me 
after  all  these  years !  " 

"  You  believed  me  to  have  done  this  deed, 
Charles.  I  read  it  in  your  eyes  and  in  your 
manner  on  that  terrible  morning.  You  never 
asked  me  for  an  explanation.  You  never  con- 
sidered how  impossible  such  a  crime  must  be 
for  a  man  of  my  character.  At  the  first  breath 
of  suspicion  you,  my  intimate  friend,  the  man 
who  knew  me  best,  set  me  down  as  a  thief 
and  a  murderer." 

"No,  no,  Ned." 

"  You  did,  Charles.  I  read  it  in  your  eyes. 
And  so  it  was  that  when  I  wished  to  leave  that 
which  was  most  precious  to  me  in  safe  hands  I 
had  to  pass  you  over  and  to  place  him  in  the 
charge  of  the  one  man  who  from  the  first  never 
doubted  my  innocence.  Better  a  thousand  times 
that  my  son  should  be  brought  up  in  a  humble 
station  and  in  ignorance  of  his  unfortunate  father 
than  that  he  should  learn  to  share  the  doubts  and 
suspicions  of  his  equals  !  " 

"  Then  he  is  really  your  son  !  "  cried  my  un- 
cle, staring  at  Jim  in  amazement. 

For  answer  the  man  stretched  out  his  long 


LORD  AVON.  365 

withered  arm  and  placed  a  gaunt  hand  upon  the 
shoulder  of  the  actress,  while  she  looked  up  at 
him  with  love  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  married,  Charles,  and  I  kept  it  secret  from 
my  friends,  for  I  had  gone  to  the  stage  for  my 
wife.  You  know  the  foolish  pride  which  has  al- 
ways been  the  strongest  part  of  my  nature.  I 
could  not  bear  to  avow  that  which  I  had  done. 
It  was  this  neglect  upon  my  part  which  led  to 
an  estrangement  between  us,  and  drove  her  into 
habits  for  which  it  is  I  who  am  to  blame  and  not 
she.  Yet,  on  account  of  these  same  habits  I  took 
the  child  from  her  and  gave  her  an  allowance  on 
condition  that  she  did  not  interfere  with  it.  I 
had  feared  that  the  boy  might  receive  evil  from 
her,  and  had  never  dreamed  in  my  blindness  that 
she  might  get  good  from  him.  But  I  have 
learned  in  my  miserable  life,  Charles,  that  there  is 
a  power  which  fashions  things  for  us,  though  we 
may  strive  to  thwart  it,  and  that  we  are  in  truth 
driven  by  an  unseen  current  toward  a  certain 
goal,  however  much  we  my  deceive  ourselves 
into  thinking  that  it  is  our  own  sails  and  oars 
which  are  speeding  us  upon  our  way." 

My  eyes  had  been  upon  the  face  of  my  uncle 
as  he  listened,  but  now  as  I  turned  them  from 
him  they  fell  once  more  upon  the  thin,  wolfish 
face  of  Sir  Lothian  Hume.  He  stood  near  the 


366  RODNEY  STONE. 

window,  his  gray  silhouette  thrown  up  against 
the  square  of  dusty  glass,  and  I  have  never  seen 
such  a  play  of  evil  passions,  of  anger,  of  jealousy, 
of  disappointed  greed,  upon  a  human  face  before. 

"  Am  I  to  understand,"  said  he,  in  a  loud,  harsh 
voice,  "  that  this  young  man  claims  to  be  the  heir 
of  the  peerage  of  Avon  ?  " 

"  He  is  my  lawful  son." 

"  I  knew  you  fairly  well,  sir,  in  our  youth,  but 
you  will  allow  me  to  observe  that  neither  I  nor 
any  friend  of  yours  ever  heard  of  a  wife  or  son. 
I  defy  Sir  Charles  Tregellis  to  say  that  he  ever 
dreamed  that  there  was  any  heir  except  myself." 

"I  have  already  explained,  Sir  Lothian,  why  I 
kept  my  marriage  secret." 

"  You  have  explained,  sir,  but  it  is  for  others 
in  another  place  to  say  if  that  explanation  is  satis- 
factory." 

Two  blazing  dark  eyes  flashed  out  of  the  pale, 
haggard  face  with  as  strange  and  sudden  an  effect 
as  if  a  stream  of  light  were  to  beat  through  the 
windows  of  a  shattered  and  ruined  house. 

"  You  dare  to  doubt  my  word  !  " 

"  I  demand  a  proof." 

"  My  word  is  proof  to  those  who  know  me." 

"  Excuse  me,  Lord  Avon,  but  I  know  you,  and 
I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  accept  your  state- 
ment." 


Lord  Avon  staggered  forward. 


LORD  AVON.  367 

It  was  a  brutal  speech,  and  brutally  delivered. 
Lord  Avon  staggered  forward,  and  it  was  only 
his  son  on  one  side  and  his  wife  on  the  other 
who  kept  his  quivering  hands  from  the  throat  of 
his  insulter.  Sir  Lothian  recoiled  from  the  pale, 
fierce  face  with  the  black  brows,  but  he  still 
glared  angrily  about  the  room. 

"  A  very  pretty  conspiracy,  this,"  he  cried, 
"  with  a  criminal,  an  actress,  and  a  prize-fighter 
all  playing  their  parts.— Sir  Charles  Tregellis,  you 
snail  hear  from  me  again  ! — And  you,  also,  my 
lord  !  "  He  turned  on  his  heel  and  strode  from 
the  room. 

"  He  has  gone  to  denounce  me,"  said  Lord 
Avon,  a  spasm  of  wounded  pride  distorting  his 
features. 

"  Shall  I  bring  him  back  ?  "  cried  Boy  Jim. 

"  No,  no,  let  him  go.  It  is  as  well,  for  I  have 
already  made  up  my  mind  that  my  duty  to  you, 
my  son,  outweighs  that  which  I  owe,  and  have  at 
such  bitter  cost  fulfilled  to  my  brother  and  my 
family." 

"  You  did  me  an  injustice,  Ned,"  said  my  un- 
cle, "  if  you  thought  that  I  had  forgotten  you  or 
I  had  judged  you  unkindly.  If  ever  I  have  that 
thought  that  you  had  done  this  deed — and  how 
could  I  doubt  the  evidence  of  my  own  eyes — I 
have  always  believed  that  it  was  at  a  time  when 


368  RODNEY   STONE. 

your  mind  was  unhinged,  and  when  you  knew  no 
more  of  what  you  were  about  than  the  man  who 
is  walking  in  his  sleep." 

"  What  do  you  mean  when  you  talk  about  the 
evidence  of  your  own  eyes  ?  "  asked  Lord  Avon, 
looking  hard  at  my  uncle. 

"  I  saw  you,  Ned,  upon  that  accursed  night." 

"Saw  me?     Where?" 

"  In  the  passage." 

"And  doing  what?" 

"  You  were  coming  from  your  brother's  room. 
I  had  heard  his  voice  raised  in  anger  and  pain 
only  an  instant  before.  You  carried  in  your  hand 
a  bag  full  of  money,  and  your  face  betrayed  the 
utmost  agitation.  If  you  can  but  explain  to  me, 
Ned,  how  you  came  to  be  there,  you  will  take 
from  my  heart  a  weight  which  has  pressed  upon 
it  for  years." 

No  one  now  would  have  recognised  in  my  uncle 
the  man  who  was  the  leader  of  all  the  fops  of 
London.  In  the  presence  of  this  old  friend  and 
of  the  tragedy  which  girt  him  round  the  veil  of 
triviality  and  affection  had  been  rent,  and  I  felt 
all  my  gratitude  toward  him  deepening  for  the 
first  time  into  affection  while  I  watched  his  pale, 
anxious  face,  and  the  eager  hope  which  shone  in 
his  eyes  as  he  awaited  his  friend's  explanation. 
Lord  Avon  sank  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  for  a 


LORD  AVON.  269 

few  moments  there  was  silence  in  the  dim,  gray 
room. 

"  I  do  not  wonder  now  that  you  were  shaken," 
said  he  at  last.  "  My  God,  what  a  net  was  cast 
round  me  !  Had  this  vile  charge  been  brought 
against  me,  you,  my  dearest  friend,  would  have 
been  compelled  to  tear  away  the  last  doubt  as  to 
my  guilt.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  what  you  have 
seen,  Charles,  I  am  as  innocent  in  the  matter  as 
you  are." 

"  I  thank  God  that  I  hear  you  say  so." 

"  But  you  are  not  satisfied,  Charles.  I  can 
read  it  on  your  face.  You  wish  to  know  why 
an  innocent  man  should  conceal  himself  for  all 
these  years." 

"  Your  word  is  enough  for  me,  Ned ;  but  the 
world  will  wish  this  other  question  answered 
also." 

"  It  was  to  save  the  family  honour,  Charles. 
You  know  how  dear  it  was  to  me.  I  could  not 
clear  myself  without  proving  my  brother  to  have 
been  guilty  of  the  foulest  crime  which  a  gentle- 
man could  commit.  For  eighteen  years  I  have 
screened  him,  at  the  expense  of  everything  which 
a  man  could  sacrifice.  I  have  lived  a  living 
death,  which  has  left  me  an  old  and  shattered 
man,  when  I  am  but  in  my  fortieth  year.  But 
now,  when  I  am  faced  with  the  alternative  of 


370  RODNEY  STONE. 

telling  the  facts  about  my  brother  or  of  wronging 
my  son,  I  can  only  act  in  one  fashion,  and  the 
more  so  since  I  have  reason  to  hope  that  a  way 
may  be  found  by  which  what  I  am  now  about  to 
disclose  to  you  need  never  come  to  the  public 
ear." 

He  rose  from  his  chair,  and,  leaning  heavily 
upon  his  two  supporters,  he  tottered  across  the 
room  to  the  dust-covered  sideboard.  There,  in  the 
centre  of  it,  was  lying  that  ill-boding  pile  of  time- 
stained,  mildewed  cards,  just  as  Boy  Jim  and  I 
had  seen  them  years  before.  Lord  Avon  turned 
them  over  with  trembling  fingers,  and  then,  pick- 
ing up  half  a  dozen,  he  brought  them  to  my 
uncle. 

"  Place  your  finger  and  thumb  upon  the  left- 
hand  bottom  corner  of  this  card,  Charles,"  said 
he.  "  Pass  them  lightly  backward  and  forward, 
and  tell  me  what  you  feel." 

"  It  has  been  pricked  with  a  pin." 

"  Precisely.     What  is  the  card?" 

My  uncle  turned  it  over. 

"  It  is  the  king  of  clubs." 

"  Try  the  bottom  corner  of  this  one." 

"  It  is  quite  smooth." 

"  And  the  card  is ?  " 

"  The  three  of  spades." 

"  And  this  one  ?  " 


LORD   AVON. 


371 


"  It  has  been  pricked.     It  is  the  ace  of  hearts." 

Lord  Avon  hurled  them  down  upon  the  floor. 

"  There,  you  have  the  whole  accursed  story !  " 
he  cried.  "  Need'  I  go  further,  where  every  word 
is  an  agony  ?  " 

"  I  see  something,  but  not  all.  You  must  con- 
tinue, Ned." 

The  frail  figure  stiffened  itself  as  though  he 
were  visibly  bracing  himself  for  an  effort. 

"  I  will  tell  it  you  then  once  and  forever. 
Never  again,  I  trust,  will  it  be  necessary  for  me 
to  open  my  lips  about  the  miserable  business. 
You  remember  our  game.  You  remember  how 
we  lost.  You  remember  how  you  all  retired  and 
left  me  sitting  in  this  very  room  and  at  that 
very  table.  Far  from  being  tired,  I  was  exceed- 
ingly wakeful,  and  I  remained  here  for  an  hour 
or  more,  thinking  over  the  incidents  of  the  game 
and  the  changes  which  it  promised  to  bring 
about  in  my  fortunes.  I  had,  as  you  will  recol- 
lect, lost  heavily,  and  my  only  consolation  was 
that  my  own  brother  had  won.  I  knew  that 
owing  to  his  reckless  mode  of  life  he  was  firmly 
in  the  clutches  of  the  Jews,  and  I  hoped  that 
that  which  had  shaken  my  position  might  haVe 
the  effect  of  restoring  his.  As  I  sat  there,  finger- 
ing the  cards  in  an  abstracted  way,  some  chance 
led  me  to  observe  the  small  needle  pricks  which 


372  RODNEY   STONE. 

you  have  just  felt.  I  went  over  the  packs  and 
found,  to  my  unspeakable  horror,  that  any  one 
who  was  in  the  secret  could  hold  them  in  dealing 
in  such  a  way  as  to  be  able  to  count  the  exact 
number  of  high  cards  which  fell  to  each  of  his 
opponents.  And  then,  with  such  a  flush  of  shame 
and  disgust  as  I  had  never  known,  I  remembered 
how  my  attention  had  been  drawn  to  my  brother's 
mode  of  dealing,  its  slowness,  and  the  way  in 
which  he  held  each  card  by  the  lower  corner. 

"  I  did  not  condemn  him  precipitately.  I  sat 
for  a  long  time  calling  to  mind  every  incident 
which  could  tell  one  way  or  the  other.  Alas !  it 
all  went  to  confirm  me  in  my  first  horrible  sus- 
picion, and  to  turn  it  into  a  certainty.  My 
brother  had  ordered  the  packs  from  Ledbury's  in 
Bond  Street.  They  had  been  for  some  hours  in 
his  chambers.  He  had  played  throughout  with 
a  decision  which  had  surprised  us  at  the  time. 
Above  all,  I  could  not  conceal  from  myself  that 
his  past  life  was  not  such  as  to  make  even  so 
abominable  a  crime  as  this  impossible  to  him. 
Tingling  with  anger  and  shame,  I  went  straight 
up  that  stair,  the  cards  in  my  hand,  and  I  taxed 
him  with  this  lowest  and  meanest  of  all  the 
crimes  to  which  a  villain  could  descend. 

"  He  had  not  retired  to  rest,  and  his  ill-gotten 
gains  were  spread  out  upon  the  dressing  table.  I 


LORD   AVON.  373 

hardly  know  what  I  said  to  him,  but  the  facts 
were  so  deadly  that  he  did  not  attempt  to  deny 
his  guilt.  You  will  remember  as  the  only  mitiga- 
tion of  his  crime  that  he  was  not  yet  one  and 
twenty  years  of  age.  My  words  overwhelmed 
him.  He  went  on  his  knees  to  me,  imploring  me 
to  spare  him.  I  told  him  that  out  of  considera- 
tion for  our  family  I  should  make  no  public  ex- 
posure of  him,  but  that  he  must  never  again  in  his 
life  lay  his  hand  upon  a  card,  and  that  the  money 
which  he  had  won  must  be  returned  next  morn- 
ing to  my  guests  with  an  explanation.  It  would 
be  social  ruin,  he  protested.  I  answered  that  he 
must  take  the  consequences  of  his  own  deed. 
Then  and  there  I  burned  the  papers  which  he 
had  won  from  me,  and  I  replaced  in  a  canvas  bag 
which  lay  upon  the  table  all  the  gold  pieces.  I 
would  have  left  the  room  without  another  word, 
but  he  clung  to  me  and  tore  the  ruffle  from  my 
wrist  in  his  attempt  to  hold  me  back  and  to  pre- 
vail upon  me  to  promise  to  say  nothing  to  you  or 
Sir  Lothian  Hume.  It  was  his  despairing  cry 
when  he  found  that  I  was  proof  against  all  his  en- 
treaties which  reached  your  ears,  Charles,  and 
caused  you  to  open  your  chamber  door  and  to 
see  me  as  I  returned  to  my  room." 

My    uncle    drew    a    long    breath    of    relief. 
"  Nothing  could  be  clearer! "  he  murmured. 


374 


RODNEY   STONE. 


"  In  the  morning-  I  came,  as  you  remember,  to 
your  room,  and  I  returned  your  money.  1  did 
the  same  to  Sir  Lothian  Hume.  I  said  nothing 
of  my  reasons  for  doing  so,  for  I  found  that  I 
could  not  bring  myself  to  confess  our  disgrace  to 
you.  Then  came  the  horrible  discovery  which 
has  darkened  my  life  and  which  was  as  great  a 
mystery  to  me  as  it  has  been  to  you.  I  saw  that 
I  was  suspected,,  and  I  saw  also  that  even  if  I 
were  to  clear  myself  it  could  only  be  done  by  a 
public  confession  of  the  infamy  of  my  brother.  I 
shrank  from  it,  Charles.  Any  personal  suffering 
seemed  to  me  to  be  better  than  to  bring  public 
shame  upon  a  family  which  has  held  an  untar- 
nished record  through  so  many  centuries.  I  fled 
from  my  trial,  therefore,  and  disappeared  from 
the  world. 

"  But,  first  of  all,  it  was  necessary  that  I  should 
make  arrangements  for  the  wife  and  son,  of 
whose  existence  you  and  my  other  friends  were 
ignorant. — It  is  with  shame,  Mary,  that  I  confess 
it,  and  I  acknowledge  to  you  that  the  blame  of  all 
the  consequences  rests  with  me  rather  than  with 
you. — At  the  time  there  were  reasons,  now  hap- 
pily long  gone  past,  which  made  me  determine 
that  the  son  was  better  apart  from  the  mother, 
whose  absence  at  that  age  he  would  not  miss.  I 
would  have  taken  you  into  my  confidence, 


LORD  AVON.  375 

Charles,  had  it  not  been  that  your  suspicions  had 
wounded  me  deeply — for  I  did  not  at  that  time 
understand  how  strong  the  reasons  were  which 
had  prejudiced  you  against  me. 

"  On  the  evening  after  the  tragedy  I  fled  to 
London,  and  arranged  that  my  wife  should  have 
a  fitting  allowance,  on  condition  that  she  did  not 
interfere  with  the  child.  I  had,  as  you  remem- 
ber, had  much  to  do  with  Harrison,  the  prize- 
fighter, and  I  had  often  had  occasion  to  admire 
his  simple  and  honest  nature.  I  took  my  boy  to 
him  now,  and  I  found  him,  as  I  expected,  incredu- 
lous as  to  my  guilt,  and  ready  to  assist  me  in  any 
way.  At  his  wife's  entreaty  he  had  just  retired 
from  the  ring,  and  was  uncertain  how  he  should 
employ  himself.  I  was  able  to  fit  him  up  as  a 
smith,  on  condition  that  he  should  ply  his  trade 
at  the  village  of  Friar's  Oak.  My  agreement  was 
that  James  was  to  be  brought  up  as  their  nephew, 
and  that  he  should  know  nothing  of  his  unhappy 
parents. 

"  You  will  ask  me  why  I  selected  Friar's  Oak. 
It  was  because  I  had  already  chosen  my  place  of 
concealment,  and  if  I  could  not  see  my  boy  it 
was  at  least  some  consolation  to  know  that  he 
was  near  me.  You  are  aware  that  this  mansion 
is  one  of  the  oldest  in  England,  but  you  are  not 

aware  that  it  has  been  built  with  a  very  special 
25 


376  RODNEY   STONE. 

eye  to  concealment,  that  there  are  no  less  than 
two  habitable  secret  chambers,  and  that  the  outer 
or  thicker  walls  are  tunnelled  into  passages.  The 
existence  of  these  rooms  has  always  been  a  family 
secret,  though  it  was  one  which  I  valued  so  little 
that  it  was  only  the  chance  of  my  seldom  using 
the  house  which  had  prevented  me  from  pointing 
them  out  to  some  friend.  Now  I  found  that  a  se- 
cure retreat  was  provided  for  me  in  my  extremity. 
I  stole  down  to  my  own  mansion,  entered  it  at 
night,  and  leaving  all  that  was  dear  to  me  behind, 
I  crept  like  a  rat  behind  the  wainscot  to  live  out 
the  remainder  of  my  weary  life  in  solitude  and 
misery.  In  this  worn  face,  Charles,  and  in  this 
grizzled  hair,  you  may  read  the  diary  of  my  most 
miserable  existence. 

"  Once  a  week  Harrison  used  to  bring  me  up 
provisions,  passing  them  through  the  pantry  win- 
dow which  I  left  open  for  the  purpose.  Some- 
times I  would  steal  out  at  night  and  walk  under 
the  stars  once  more,  with  the  cool  breeze  upon 
my  forehead ;  but  this  I  had  at  last  to  stop,  for  I 
was  seen  by  the  rustics,  and  rumours  of  a  spirit  at 
Cliffe  Royal  began  to  get  about.  One  night  two 
ghost  hunters 

"  It  was  I,  father,"  cried  Boy  Jim ;  "  I  and  my 
friend  Rodney  Stone." 

"  I  knew  it  was.      Harrison  told   me  so   the 


LORD   AVON.  377 

same  night.  I  was  proud,  James,  to  see  that  you 
had  the  spirit  of  the  Harringtons  and  that  I  had 
an  heir  whose  gallantry  might  redeem  the  family 
blot  which  I  had  striven  so  hard  to  cover  over. 
Then  came  the  day  when  your  mother's  kindness 
—her  mistaken  kindness — gave  you  the  means  of 
escaping  to  London." 

"  Ah,  Edward  !  "  cried  his  wife,  "  if  you  had 
seen  our  boy,  like  a  caged  eagle,  beating  against 
the  bars,  you  would  have  helped  to  give  him  even 
so  short  a  flight  as  this." 

"  I  do  not  blame  you,  Mary.  It  is  possible 
that  I  should.  He  went  to  London  and  he  tried 
to  open  a  career  for  himself  by  his  own  strength 
and  courage.  How  many  of  our  ancestors  have 
done  the  same,  save  only  that  a  sword  hilt  lay  in 
their  closed  hands,  but  of  them  all  I  do  not  know 
that  any  have  carried  themselves  more  gallantly  ! " 

"  That  I  dare  swear,"  said  my  uncle  heartily. 

"  And  then  when  Harrison  at  last  returned  I 
learned  that  my  son  was  actually  matched  to  fight 
in  a  public  prize  battle.  That  would  not  do, 
Charles!  It  was  one  thing  to  fight  as  you  and  I 
have  fought  in  our  youth,  and  it  was  another  to 
compete  for  a  purse  of  gold." 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  would  not  for  the 
world " 

"  Of    course   you   would    not,   Charles.     You 


RODNEY   STONE. 

chose  the  best  man,  and  how  could  you  do 
otherwise  ?  But  it  would  not  do  !  I  determined 
that  the  time  had  come  when  I  should  reveal  my- 
self  to  my  son,  the  more  so  as  there  were  many 
signs  that  my  most  unnatural  existence  had  seri- 
ously weakened  my  health.  Chance,  or  shall  I 
not  rather  say  Providence,  had  at  last  made  clear 
all  that  had  been  dark,  and  given  me  the  means 
of  establishing  my  innocence.  My  wife  went 
yesterday  to  bring  my  boy  at  last  to  the  side  of 
his  unfortunate  father." 

There  was  silence  for  some  time,  and  then  it 
was  my  uncle's  voice  which  broke  it. 

"  You've  been  the  most  ill-used  man  in  the 
world,  Ned,"  said  he.  "  Please  God,  we  shall  have 
many  years  yet  in  which  to  make  up  to  you  for  it. 
But  after  all  it  seems  to  me  that  we  are  as  far  as 
ever  from  learning  how  your  unfortunate  brother 
met  his  death." 

"  For  eighteen  years  it  was  as  much  a  mystery 
to  me  as  to  you,  Charles.  But  now  at  last  the 
guilt  is  manifest. — Stand  forward,  Ambrose,  and 
tell  your  story  as  frankly  and  as  fully  as  you  have 
told  it  to  me." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  VALET'S  STORY. 

THE  valet  had  shrunk  into  the  dark  corner  of 
the  room  and  had  remained  so  motionless  that  we 
had  forgotten  his  presence  until  upon  this  appeal 
from  his  former  master  he  took  a  step  forward 
into  the  light,  turning  his  sallow  face  in  our 
direction.  His  usually  impassive  features  were 
in  a  state  of  painful  agitation,  and  he  spoke 
slowly  and  with  hesitation,  as  though  his  trem- 
bling lips  could  hardly  frame  the  words.  And 
yet  so  strong  is  habit  that  even  in  this  extrem- 
ity of  emotion  he  assumed  the  deferential  air  of 
the  high-class  valet,  and  his  sentences  formed 
themselves  in  the  sonorous  fashion  which  had 
struck  my  attention  upon  that  first  day  when  the 
curricle  of  my  uncle  had  stopped  outside  my 
father's  door. 

"  My  Lady  Avon  and  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "if 
I  have  sinned  in  this  matter,  and  I  freely  con- 
fess that  I  have  done  so,  I  only  know  one  way  in 

379 


380  RODNEY  STONE. 

which  I  can  atone  for  it,  and  that  is  by  making 
the  full  and  complete  confession  which  my  noble 
master,  Lord  Avon,  has  demanded.  I  assure  you, 
then,  that  what  I  am  about  to  tell  you,  surprising 
as  it  may  seem,  is  the  absolute  and  undeniable 
truth  concerning  the  mysterious  death  of  Captain 
Barrington. 

"  It  may  seem  impossible  to  you  that  one  in 
my  humble  walk  of  life  should  bear  a  deadly  and 
implacable  hatred  against  a  man  in  the  position 
of  Captain  Barrington.  You  think  that  the  gulf 
between  is  too  wide.  I  can  tell  you,  gentlemen, 
that  the  gulf  which  can  be  bridged  by  unlawful 
love  can  be  spanned  also  by  an  unlawful  hatred, 
and  that  upon  the  day  when  this  young  man 
stole  from  me  all  that  made  my  life  worth  living 
I  vowed  to  Heaven  that  I  should  take  from  him 
that  foul  life  of  his,  though  the  deed  would  cover 
but  the  tiniest  fraction  of  the  debt  which  he 
owed  me.  I  see  that  you  look  askance  at  me, 
Sir  Charles  Tregellis,  but  you  should  pray  to 
God,  sir,  that  you  may  never  have  the  chance  of 
finding  out  what  you  would  yourself  be  capable 
of  in  the  same  position  !  " 

It  was  a  wonder  to  all  of  us  to  see  this  man's 
fiery  nature  breaking  suddenly  through  the  arti- 
ficial constraints  with  which  he  held  it  in  check. 
His  short,  dark  hair  seemed  to  bristle  upward, 


THE   VALET'S    STORY.  381 

his  eyes  glowed  with  the  intensity  of  his  passion, 
and  his  face  expressed  a  malignity  of  hatred 
which  neither  the  death  of  his  enemy  nor  the 
lapse  of  years  could  mitigate.  The  demure  serv- 
ant was  gone,  and  there  stood  in  his  place  a  deep 
and  dangerous  man — one  who  might  be  an  ardent 
lover  or  a  most  vindictive  foe. 

"  We  were  about  to  be  married,  she  and  I, 
when  some  black  chance  threw  him  across  our 
path.  I  do  not  know  by  what  base  deceptions  he 
lured  her  away  from  me.  I  have  heard  that  she 
was  only  one  of  many  and  that  he  was  an  adept 
at  the  art.  It  was  done  before  ever  I  knew  the 
danger,  and  she  was  left  with  her  broken  heart 
and  her  ruined  life  to  return  to  that  home  into 
which  she  had  brought  disgrace  and  misery.  I 
only  saw  her  once.  She  told  me  that  her  se- 
ducer had  burst  out  a  laughing  when  she  had 
reproached  him  for  his  perfidy,  and  I  swore  to 
her  that  his  heart's  blood  would  pay  me  for  that 
laugh  ! 

"  I  was  a  valet  at  the  time,  but  I  was  not  yet 
in  the  service  of  Lord  Avon.  I  applied  for  and 
gained  that  position  with  the  one  idea  that  it 
might  give  me  an  opportunity  of  settling  my  ac- 
counts with  his  younger  brother.  And  yet  my 
chance  was  a  terribly  long  time  coming,  for  many 
months  had  passed  before  the  visit  to  Cliffe 


382  RODNEY   STONE. 

Royal  gave  me  the  opportunity  which  I  longed 
for  by  day  and  dreamed  of  by  night.  When  it 
did  come,  however,  it  came  in  a  fashion  which 
was  more  favourable  to  my  plans  than  anything 
that  I  had  ever  ventured  to  hope  for. 

"  Lord  Avon  was  of  opinion  that  no  one  but 
himself  knew  of  the  secret  passages  in  Cliffe 
Royal.  In  this  he  was  mistaken.  I  knew  of 
them — or  at  least  I  knew  enough  of  them  to 
serve  my  purpose.  I  need  not  tell  you  how  one 
day,  when  preparing  the  chambers  for  the  guests, 
an  accidental  pressure  upon  part  of  the  fittings 
caused  a  panel  to  gape  in  the  woodwork  and 
showed  me  a  narrow  opening  in  the  wall.  Mak- 
ing my  way  down  this,  I  found  that  another  panel 
led  into  a  larger  bedroom  beyond.  That  was  all 
I  knew,  but  it  was  all  that  was  needed  for  my 
purpose.  The  disposal  of  the  rooms  had  been 
left  in  my  hands,  and  I  had  arranged  that  Cap- 
tain Barrington  should  sleep  in  the  larger  and  I 
in  the  smaller.  I  could  come  upon  him  when  I 
wished,  and  no  one  would  be  the  wiser. 

"  And  then  he  arrived.  How  can  I  describe  to 
you  the  fever  of  impatience  in  which  I  lived 
until  the  moment  should  come  for  which  I  had 
waited  and  planned  ?  For  a  night  and  day  they 
gambled,  and  for  a  night  and  a  day  I  counted  the 
minutes  which  brought  me  nearer  to  my  man. 


THE  VALET'S  STORY.  383 

They  might  ring  for  fresh  wine  at  what  hour 
they  liked,  they  always  found  me  waiting  and 
ready,  so  that  this  young  captain  hiccoughed  out 
that  I  was  the  model  of  all  valets.  My  master 
advised  me  to  go  to  bed.  He  had  noticed  my 
flushed  cheek  and  my  bright  eyes,  and  he  set  me 
down  as  being  in  a  fever.  So  I  was,  but  it  was  a 
fever  which  only  one  medicine  could  assuage. 

"  Then  at  last,  very  early  in  the  morning,  I 
heard  them  push  back  their  chairs,  and  I  knew 
that  their  game  had  at  last  come  to  an  end. 
When  I  entered  the  room  to  receive  my  orders,  I 
found  that  Captain  Barrington  had  already  stum- 
bled off  to  bed.  The  others  had  also  retired  and 
my  master  was  sitting^  alone  at  the  table  with 
his  empty  bottle  and  the  scattered  cards  in  front 
of  him.  He  ordered  me  angrily  to  my  room,  and 
this  time  I  obeyed  him. 

"  My  first  care  was  to  provide  myself  with  a 
weapon.  I  knew  that  if  I  were  face  to  face  with 
him  I  could  tear  his  throat  out,  but  I  must  so 
arrange  that  the  fashion  of  his  death  should 
be  a  noiseless  one.  There  was  a  hunting 
trophy  in  the  hall,  and  from  it  I  took  a 
straight,  heavy  knife  which  I  sharpened  upon 
my  boot.  Then  I  stole  to  my  room  and  sat 
waiting  upon  the  side  of  my  bed.  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  what  I  should  do.  There  would 


384  RODNEY   STONE. 

be  little  satisfaction  in  killing  him  if  he  was  not 
to  know  whose  hand  had  struck  the  blow  or 
which  of  his  sins  it  came  to  avenge.  Could 
I  but  bind  him  and  gag  him  in  his  drunken 
sleep,  then  a  prick  or  two  of  my  dagger  would 
arouse  him  to  listen  to  what  I  had  to  say  to 
him.  I  pictured  the  look  in  his  eyes  as  the 
haze  of  sleep  cleared  slowly  away  from  them, 
the  look  of  anger  turning  suddenly  to  stark 
horror  as  he  understood  who  I  was  and  what 
I  had  come  for.  It  would  be  the  supreme 
moment  of  my  life. 

"  I  waited,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  for  at  least  an 
hour,  but  I  had  no  watch,  and  my  impatience 
was  such  that  I  dare  say  it  really  was  little 
more  than  a  quarter  of  that  time.  Then  I 
rose,  removed  my  shoes,  took  my  knife,  and 
having  opened  the  panel  slipped  silently  through. 
It  was  not  more  than  thirty  feet  that  I  had  to 
go,  but  I  went  inch  by  inch,  for  the  old  rotten 
boards  snapped  like  breaking  twigs  if  a  sud- 
den weight  was  placed  upon  them.  It  was,  of 
course,  pitch  dark,  and  very,  very  slowly  I  felt 
my  way  along.  At  last  I  saw  a  yellow  seam 
of  light  glimmering  in  front  of  me,  and  I 
knew  that  it  came  from  the  other  panel.  I 
was  too 'soon  then,  since  he  had  not  yet  ex- 
tinguished his  candles.  I  had  waited  many 


THE   VALET'S   STORY.  385 

months,  and  I  could  afford  to  wait  another 
hour,  for  I  did  not  wish  to  do  anything  pre- 
cipitately or  in  a  hurry. 

"  It  was  very  necessary  to  move  silently  now, 
since  I  was  within  a  few  feet  of  my  man,  with 
only  the  thin  wooden  partition  between.  Age 
had  warped  and  cracked  the  boards,  so  that 
when  I  had  at  last  very  stealthily  crept  my 
way  as  far  as  the  sliding  panel  I  found  that  I 
could,  without  any  difficulty,  see  into  the  room. 
Captain  Barrington  was  standing  by  the  dress- 
ing-table, with  his  coat  and  vest  off.  A  large 
pile  of  sovereigns  and  several  slips  of  paper 
were  lying  before  him,  and  he  was  counting 
over  his  gambling  gains.  His  face  was  flushed, 
and  he  was  heavy  from  want  of  sleep  and  wine. 
It  rejoiced  me  to  see  it,  for  it  meant  that  his 
slumber  would  be  deep,  and  that  all  would  be 
made  easy  for  me. 

"  I  was  still  watching  him,  when  of  a  sudden 
I  saw  him  start  and  a  terrible  expression  come 
upon  his  face.  For  an  instant  my  heart  stood 
still,  for  I  feared  that  he  had  in  some  way 
divined  my  presence.  And  then  I  heard  the 
voice  of  my  master  within.  I  could  not  see 
the  door  by  which  he  had  entered,  nor  could 
I  see  him  where  he  stood,  but  I  heard  all  that 
he  had  to  say.  As  I  watched  the  captain's 


386  RODNEY  STONE. 

face  flush  fiery  red  and  then  turn  to  a  livid  white 
as  he  listened  to  those  bitter  words  which  told 
him  of  his  infamy,  my  revenge  was  sweeter — 
far  sweeter — than  my  most  pleasant  dreams  had 
ever  pictured  it.  I  saw  my  master  approach 
the  dressing-table,  hold  the  papers  in  the  flame 
of  the  candle,  throw  their  charred  ashes  into 
the  grate,  and  sweep  the  golden  pieces  into  a 
small  brown  canvas  bag.  Then  as  he  turned 
to  leave  the  room  the  captain  seized  him  by 
the  wrist,  imploring  him  by  the  memory  of 
their  mother  to  have  mercy  upon  him,  and  I 
loved  my  master  as  I  saw  him  drag  his 
sleeve  from  the  grasp  of  the  clutching  fingers 
and  leave  the  stricken  wretch  grovelling  upon 
the  floor. 

"  And  now  I  was  left  with  a  difficult  point 
to  settle,  for  it  was  hard  for  me  to  say 
whether  it  was  better  that  I  should  do  that 
which  I  had  come  for,  or  whether  by  holding 
this  man's  guilty  secret  I  might  not  have  in 
my  hand  a  keener  and  more  deadly  weapon 
than  my  master's  hunting  knife.  I  was  sure 
that  Lord  Avon  could  not  and  would  not  ex- 
pose him.  I  knew  your  sense  of  family  pride 
too  well,  my  lord,  and  I  was  certain  that  his 
secret  was  safe  in  your  hands.  But  I  both 
could  and  would,  and  then  when  his  life  had 


THE   VALET'S   STORY.  387 

been  blasted  and  he  had  been  hounded  from 
his  regiment  and  from  his  clubs,  it  would  be 
time,  perhaps,  for  me  to  deal  in  some  other 
way  with  him." 

"  Ambrose,  you  are  a  black  villain  !  "  said  my 
uncle. 

"  We  all  have  our  own  feelings,  Sir  Charles, 
and  you  will  permit  me  to  say  that  a  serv- 
ing man  may  resent  an  injury  as  much  as  a 
gentleman,  though  the  redress  of  the  duel  is 
denied  to  him.  But  I  am  telling  you  frankly, 
at  Lord  Avon's  request,  all  that  I  thought  and 
did  upon  that  night,  and  I  shall  continue  to  do 
so,  even  if  I  am  not  fortunate  enough  to  win 
your  approval. 

"  When  Lord  Avon  had  left  him  the  captain 
remained  for  some  time  in  a  kneeling  attitude 
with  his  face  sunk  upon  a  chair.  Then  he  rose 
and  paced  slowly  up  and  down  the  room,  his 
chin  sunk  upon  his  breast.  Every  now  and 
then  he  would  pluck  at  his  hair,  or  shake  his 
clinched  hands  in  the  air,  and  I  saw  the 
moisture  glisten  upon  his  brow.  For  a  time 
I  lost  sight  of  him,  and  I  heard  him  opening 
drawer  after  drawer,  as  though  he  were  in 
search  of  something.  Then  he  stood  over  by 
his  dressing-table  again,  with  his  back  turned 
to  me.  His  head  was  thrown  a  little  back, 


3S8  RODNEY  STONE. 

and  he  had  both  hands  up  to  the  collar  of  his 
shirt  as  though  he  were  striving  to  undo  it. 

"  And  then  there  was  a  sound  -as  if  a  ewer 
had  been  upset,  and  down  he  sank  upon  the 
ground,  with  his  head  in  the  corner,  twisted 
round  at  so  strange  an  angle  to  his  shoulders 
that  one  glimpse  of  it  told  me  that  my  man 
was  slipping  swiftly  from  the  clutch  in  which  I 
fancied  that  I  held  him.  I  slid  my  panel  and 
was  in  the  room  in  an  instant.  His  eyelids  still 
quivered,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  my  gaze  met 
his  glazing  eyes  that  I  could  read  both  recog- 
nition and  surprise  in  them.  I  laid  my  knife 
upon  the  floor,  and  I  stretched  myself  out  be- 
side him  that  I  might  whisper  in  his  ear  one 
or  two  little  things  of  which  I  wished  to  re- 
mind him,  but  even  as  I  did  so  he  gave  a  gasp 
and  was  gone. 

"  It  is  singular  that  I,  who  had  never  feared  him 
in  life,  should  be  frightened  at  him  now,  and  yet 
when  I  looked  at  him  and  saw  that  all  was  mo- 
tionless, save  the  creeping  stain  upon  the  carpet, 
I  was  seized  with  a  sudden  foolish  spasm  of 
terror,  and,  catching  up  my  knife,  I  fled  swiftly 
and  silently  back  to  my  own  room,  closing  the 
panels  behind  me.  It  was  only  when  I  had 
reached  it  that  I  found  that  in  my  mad  haste 
I  had  carried  away  not  the  hunting  knife  which 


THE  VALET'S   STORY.  389 

I  had  taken  with  me,  but  the  bloody  razor  which 
had  dropped  from  the  dead  man's  hand.  This  I 
concealed  where  no  one  has  ever  discovered  it, 
but  my  fears  would  not  allow  me  to  go  back  for 
the  other,  as  I  might  perhaps  have  done  had  I 
foreseen  how  terribly  its  presence  might  tell 
against  my  master.  And  that,  Lady  Avon  and 
gentlemen,  is  an  exact  and  honest  account  of  how 
Captain  Barrington  came  by  his  end." 

"  And  how  was  it,"  asked  my  uncle,  angrily, 
"  that  you  have  allowed  an  innocent  man  to  be 
persecuted  all  these  years  when  a  word  from  you 
might  have  saved  him  ?  " 

"  Because  I  had  every  reason  to  believe,  Sir 
Charles,  that  that  would  be  most  unwelcome  to 
Lord  Avon.  How  could  I  tell  all  this  without 
revealing  the  family  scandal  which  he  was  so 
anxious  to  conceal?  I  confess  that  at  the  be- 
ginning I  did  not  tell  him  what  I  had  seen, 
and  my  excuse  must  be  that  he  disappeared 
before  I  had  time  to  determine  what  I  should 
do.  For  many  a  year,  however — ever  since  I 
have  been  in  your  service,  Sir  Charles — my  con- 
science tormented  me,  and  I  swore  that  if  ever 
I  should  find  my  old  master  I  should  reveal 
everything  to  him.  The  chance  of  my  overhear- 
ing a  story  told  by  young  Mister  Stone  here, 
which  showed  me  that  some  one  was  using  the 


390 


RODNEY   STONE. 


secret  chambers  of  Cliffe  Royal,  convinced  me 
that  Lord  Avon  was  in  hiding  there,  and  I 
lost  no  time  in  seeking  him  out  and  offering 
to  do  him  allN  the  justice  in  my  power." 

"  What  he  says  is  true,"  said  his  master, 
"  but  it  would  have  been  strange  indeed  if  I 
had  hesitated  to  sacrifice  a  frail  life  and  fail- 
ing health  in  a  cause  for  which  I  freely  sur- 
rendered ail  that  youth  had  to  offer.  But  new 
considerations  have  at  last  compelled  me  to 
alter  my  resolution.  My  son,  through  igno- 
rance of  his  true  position,  was  drifting  into  a 
course  of  life  which  accorded  with  his  strength 
and  his  spirit,  but  not  with  the  traditions  of 
his  house.  Again,  I  reflected  that  many  of 
those  who  knew  my  brother  had  passed  away, 
that  all  the  facts  need  not  come  out,  and  that 
my  death,  while  under  the  suspicion  of  such  a 
crime,  would  cast  a  deeper  stain  upon  our  name 
than  the  sin  which  he  had  so  terribly  expi- 
ated. For  these  reasons " 

The  tramp  of  several  heavy  footsteps  rever- 
berating through  the  old  house  broke  in  sud- 
denly upon  Lord  Avon's  words.  His  wan  face 
turned  even  a  shade  grayer  as  he  heard  it,  and 
he  looked  piteously  to  his  wife  and  son. 

"  They  will  arrest  me ! "  he  cried.  "  I  must 
submit  to  the  degradation  of  an  arrest ! " 


THE  VALET'S  STORY.  39! 

"  This  way,  Sir  James,  this  way  !  "  said  the 
harsh  tones  of  Sir  Lothian  Hume  from  with- 
out. 

"  I  do  not  need  to  be  shown  the  way  in  a 
house  where  I  have  drunk  many  a  bottle  of 
good  claret,"  cried  a  deep  voice  in  reply,  and 
there  in  the  doorway  stood  the  broad  figure 
of  Squire  Ovington,  in  his  buckskins  and  top 
boots,  a  riding  crop  in  his  hand.  Sir  Lothian 
Hume  was  at  his  elbow,  and  I  saw  the  faces 
of  two  country  constables  peeping  over  his 
shoulder. 

"  Lord  Avon,"  said  the  squire,  "  as  a  magis- 
trate of  the  county  of  Sussex  it  is  my  duty  to 
tell  you  that  a  warrant  is  held  against  you 
for  the  wilful  murder  of  your  brother,  Captain 
Barrington,  in  the  year  1786." 

"  I  ajn  ready  to  answer  the  charge." 

"This  I  tell  you  as  a  magistrate.  But  as  a 
man,  and  the  squire  of  Rougham  Grange,  I'm 
right  glad  to  see  you,  Ned,  and  here's  my  hand 
on  it,  and  never  will  I  believe  that  a  good  Tory 
like  yourself,  and  a  man  who  could  show  his 
horse's  tail  to  any  field  in  the  whole  Down 
country,  would  ever  be  capable  of  so  vile  an 
act." 

"  You  do  me  justice,  James,"  said  Lord  Avon, 

clasping  the  broad  brown  hand  which  the  country 
26 


392  RODNEY  STONE. 

squire  had  held  out  to  him.  "  I  am  as  innocent 
as  you  are,  and  I  can  prove  it." 

"  Damned  glad  I  am  to  hear  it,  Ned  !  That  is 
to  say,  Lord  Avon,  that  any  defence  which  you 
may  have  to  make  will  be  decided  upon  by  your 
peers  and  by  the  laws  of  your  country." 

"  Until  which  time,"  added  Sir  Lothian  Hume, 
"  a  stout  door  and  a  good  lock  will  be  the  best 
guarantee  that  Lord  Avon  will  be  there  when 
called  for." 

The  squire's  weather-stained  face  flushed 
to  a  deeper  red  as  he  turned  upon  the  Lon- 
doner. 

"  Are  you  the  magistrate  of  a  county,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  the  honour,  Sir  James." 

"  Then  how  dare  you  advise  a  man  who  has 
sat  on  the  bench  for  nigh  twenty  years  ?  When 
I  am  in  doubt,  sir,  the  law  provides  me  with  a 
clerk,  with  whom  I  may  confer,  and  I  ask  no 
other  assistance." 

"  You  take  too  high  a  tone  in  this  matter,  Sir 
James.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  be  taken  to  task 
so  sharply." 

"  Nor  am  I  accustomed,  sir,  to  be  interfered 
with  in  my  official  duties.  I  speak  as  a  magis- 
trate, Sir  Lothian,  but  I  am  always  very  ready  to 
sustain  my  opinions  as  a  man." 

Sir  Lothian  bowed. 


THE  VALET'S   STORY.  293 

"  You  will  allow  me  to  observe,  sir,  that  I  have 
personal  interests  of  the  highest  importance  in- 
volved in  this  matter.  I  have  every  reason  to 
believe  that  there  is  a  conspiracy  afoot  which 
will  affect  my  position  as  heir  to  Lord  Avon's 
titles  and  estates.  I  desire  his  safe  custody  in 
order  that  this  matter  may  be  cleared  up,  and  I 
call  upon  you,  as  a  magistrate,  to  execute  your 
warrant." 

"  Plague  take  it,  Ned  !  "  cried  the  squire,  "  I 
would  that  my  clerk  Johnson  were  here,  for  I 
would  deal  as  kindly  by  you  as  the  law  allows, 
and  yet  I  am,  as  you  hear,  called  upon  to  secure 
your  person." 

"  Permit  me  to  suggest,  sir,"  said  my  uncle, 
"  that  so  long  as  he  is  under  the  personal  super- 
vision of  the  magistrate  he  may  be  said  to  be 
under  the  care  of  the  law,  and  that  this  condition 
will  be  fulfilled  if  he  is  under  the  roof  of  Rougham 
Grange." 

"  Nothing  could  be  better,"  cried  the  squire, 
heartily. — "  You  will  stay  with  me,  Ned,  until 
this  matter  blows  over.  In  other  words,  Lord 
Avon,  I  make  myself  responsible  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  law  that  you  are  held  in  safe 
custody  until  your  person  may  be  required  of 
me." 

"  Yours  is  a  true  heart,  James." 


RODNEY   STONE. 

"  Tut,  tut!  it  is  the  due  process  of  the  law. — I 
trust,  Sir  Lothian  Hume,  that  you  find  nothing  to 
object  to  in  it." 

Sir  Lothian  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked 
blackly  at  the  magistrate.  Then  he  turned  to  my 
uncle. 

"  There  is  a  small  matter  still  open  between 
us,"  said  he.  "  Would  you  kindly  give  me  the 
name  of  a  friend  ?  Mr.  Corcoran,  who  is  outside 
in  my  barouche,  would  act  for  me,  and  we  might 
meet  to-morrow  morning." 

"  With  pleasure,"  answered  my  uncle. — "  I 
dare  say  your  father  would  act  for  me,  nephew. 
— Your  friend  may  call  upon  Lieutenant  Stone, 
of  Friar's  Oak,  and  the  sooner  the  better." 

And  so  this  strange  conference  ended.  As  for 
me,  I  had  sprung  to  the  side  of  the  old  friend  of 
my  boyhood,  and  was  trying  to  tell  him  rny  joy 
at  his  good  fortune,  and  listening  to  his  assurance 
that  nothing  that  could  ever  befall  him  could 
weaken  the  love  that  he  bore  me.  My  uncle 
touched  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  we  were  about 
to  leave,  when  Ambrose,  whose  bronze  mask  had 
been  drawn  down  once  more  over  his  fiery  pas- 
sions, came  demurely  toward  him. 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Sir  Charles,"  said  he,  "  but 
it  shocks  me  very  much  to  see  your  cravat." 

"  You    are    right,   Ambrose,"    my   uncle  an- 


THE   VALET'S   STORY.  39$ 

swered.  "  Lorimer  does  his  best,  but  I  have 
never  been  able  to  fill  your  place." 

"  Lord  Avon  has  the  prior  claim.  If  he  will 
release  me " 

"  You  may  go,  Ambrose,  you  may  go  ! "  cried 
Lord  Avon.  "  You  are  an  excellent  servant,  but 
your  presence  has  become  painful  to  me." 

"  Thank  you,  Ned,"  said  my  uncle.  "  C'est  le 
meilleur  valet  possible.  But  you  must  not  leave 
me  so  suddenly  again." 

"  Permit  me  to  explain  the  reason,  sir.  I  had 
determined  to  give  you  notice  when  we  reached 
Brighton,  but  as  we  drove  from  the  village  that 
day  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  lady  passing  in  a 
phaeton,  between  whom  and  Lord  Avon  I  was 
well  aware  that  there  was  a  close  intimacy, 
although  I  was  not  certain  that  she  was  actually 
his  wife.  Her  presence  there  confirmed  me  in 
my  opinion  that  he  was  in  hiding  at  Cliffe  Royal, 
and  I  dropped  from  your  curricle  and  followed 
her  at  once  in  order  to  lay  the  matter  before  her, 
and  explain  how  very  necessary  it  was  that  Lord 
Avon  should  see  me." 

"  Well,  I  forgive  you  for  your  desertion,  Am- 
brose," said  my  uncle.  "And,"  he  added,  "I 
should  be  vastly  obliged  to  you  if  you  would  re- 
arrange my  tie." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  END. 

SIR  JAMES  OVINGTON'S  carriage  was  waiting 
without,  and  in  it  the  Avon  family,  so  tragically 
separated  and  so  strangely  reunited,  were  borne 
away  to  the  squire's  hospitable  home.  When 
they  had  gone,  my  uncle  mounted  his  curricle  and 
drove  Ambrose  and  myself  to  the  village. 

"  We  had  best  see  your  father  at  once,  nephew," 
said  he.  "  Sir  Lothian  and  his  man  started  some 
time  ago.  I  should  be  sorry  if  there  were  any 
hitch  in  our  meeting." 

For  my  part  I  was  thinking  of  our  opponent's 
deadly  reputation  as  a  duellist,  and  I  suppose 
that  my  features  must  have  betrayed  my  feelings, 
for  my  uncle  began  to  laugh. 

"  Why,  nephew,"  said  he,  "you  look  as  if  you 
were  walking  behind  my  coffin  !  It  is  not  my 
first  affair,  and  I  dare  bet  that  it  will  not  be  my 
last.  When  I  fight  near  town  I  usually  fire  a 

hundred  or  so  in  Manton's  back  shop,  but  I  dare 

396 


THE   END. 


397 


say  I  can  find  my  way  to  his  waistcoat.  But  I 
confess  that  I  am  somewhat  accable  by  all  that 
has  befallen  us.  To  think  of  my  dear  old  friend 
being  not  only  alive,  but  innocent  as  well !  And 
that  he  should  have  such  a  strapping1  son  and  heir 
to  carry  on  the  race  of  Avon!  This  will  be  the 
last  blow  to  Hume,  for  I  know  that  the  Jews  have 
given  him  rope  on  the  score  of  his  expectations. 
— And  you,  Ambrose,  that  you  should  break  out 
in  such  a  way  !  " 

Of  all  the  amazing  things  which  had  happened 
this  seemed  to  have  impressed  my  uncle  most, 
and  he  recurred  to  it  again  and  again.  That  a 
man  whom  he  had  come  to  regard  as  a  machine 
for  tying  cravats  and  brewing  chocolate  should 
suddenly  develop  fiery  human  passions  was  in- 
deed a  prodigy.  If  his  silver  razor-heater  had 
taken  to  evil  ways  he  could  not  have  been  more 
astounded. 

We  were  still  a  hundred  yards  from  the  cot- 
tage, when  I  saw  the  tall,  green-coated  Mr.  Cor- 
coran striding  down  the  garden  path.  My  father 
was  waiting  for  us  at  the  door,  with  an  expression 
of  subdued  delight  upon  his  face. 

"  Happy  to  serve  you  in  any  way,  Sir 
Charles,"  said  he.  "  We've  arranged  it  for  to- 
morrow at  seven  on  Ditchling  Common." 

"I  wish  these  things. could  be  brought  off  a 


398  RODNEY  STONE. 

little  later  in  the  day,"  said  my  uncle.  "  One  has 
either  to  rise  at  a  perfectly  absurd  hour,  or  else 
to  neglect  one's  toilet. 

"  They  are  stopping  across  the  road  at  the 
Friar's  Oak  Inn,  and  if  you  would  wish  it 
later— 

"  No,  no,  I  shall  make  the  effort. — Ambrose, 
you  will  bring  up  the  batterie  de  toilette  at  five." 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  would  care  to  use 
my  barkers,"  said  my  father.  "  I've  had  'em  in 
fourteen  actions,  and  up  to  thirty  yards  you 
wouldn't  wish  a  better  tool." 

"  Thank  you,  I  have  my  duelling  pistols  under 
the  seat. — See  that  the  triggers  are  oiled,  Am- 
brose, for  I  love  a  light  pull. — Ah,  sister  Mary,  I 
have  brought  your  boy  back  to  you — none  the 
worse,  I  trust,  for  the  dissipations  of  town." 

I  need  not  tell  you  how  my  dear  mother  wept 
over  me  and  fondled  me,  for  you  who  have 
mothers  will  know  for  yourselves,  and  you  who 
have  not  will  never  understand  how  warm  and 
snug  -the  home  nest  can  be.  How  I  had  chafed 
and  longed  for  the  wonders  of  town,  and  yet,  now 
that  I  had  seen  more  than  my  wildest  dreams  had 
ever  deemed  possible,  my  eyes  had  rested  upon 
nothing  which  was  so  sweet  and  so  restful  as  our 
own  little  sitting  room  with  its  terra-cotta-coloured 
wall,  and  those  trifles  which  are  so  insignificant  in 


THE   END. 


399 


themselves  and  yet  so  rich  in  memories,  the  blow 
fish  from  Moluccas,  the  narwhal's  horn  from  the 
arctic,  and  the  picture  of  the  <^a  Ira  with  Lord 
Hotham  in  chase !  How  cheery,  too,  to  see  at 
one  side  of  the  shining  grate  my  father  with  his 
pipe  and  his  merry  red  face,  and  on  the  other  my 
mother  with  her  fingers  ever  turning  and  darting 
with  her  knitting  needles !  As  I  looked  at  them 
I  marvelled  that  I  could  ever  have  longed  to 
leave  them,  or  that  I  could  bring  myself  to  leave 
them  again. 

But  leave  them  I  must,  and  that  speedily, 
as  I  learned  amid  the  boisterous  -congratula- 
tions of  my  father  and  the  tears  of  my 
mother.  He  had  himself  been  appointed  to 
the  Cato  sixty-four,  with  post  rank,  while  a 
note  had  come  from  Lord  Nelson  at  Ports- 
mouth to  say  that  a  vacancy  was  open  for 
me  if  I  should  present  myself  at  once. 

"  And  your  mother  has  your  sea-chest  all 
ready,  my  lad,  and  you  can  travel  down  with 
me  to-morrow,  for  if  you  are  to  be  one  of 
Nelson's  men  you  must  show  him  that  you 
are  worthy  of  it." 

"  All  the  Stones  have  been  in  the  sea  ser- 
vice," said  my  mother,  apologetically  to  my 
uncle,  "  and  it  is  a  great  chance  that  he 
should  enter  under  Lord  Nelson's  own  patron- 


400 


RODNEY   STONE. 


age.  But  we  can  never  forget  your  kindness, 
Charles,  in  showing  our  dear  Rodney  some- 
thing of  the  world." 

"  On  the  contrary,  sister  Mary,"  said  my 
uncle  graciously,  "  your  son  has  been  an  ex- 
cellent companion  to  me — so  much  so  that  I 
fear  that  I  am  open  to  the  charge  of  having  ne- 
glected my  dear  Fidelio.  I  trust  that  I  bring 
him  back  somewhat  more  polished  than  I  found 
him.  It  would  be  folly  to  call  him  distingu6, 
but  he  is  at  least  unobjectionable.  Nature  has 
denied  him  the  highest  gifts,  and  I  find  him 
adverse  to  employing  the  compensating  advan- 
tages of  art,  but  at  least  I  have  shown  him 
something  of  life,  and  I  have  taught  him  a 
few  lessons  in  finesse  and  deportment,  which 
may  appear  to  be  wasted  upon  him  at  present, 
but  which  none  the  less  may  come  back  to 
him  in  his  more  mature  years.  If  his  career 
in  town  has  been  a  disappointment  to  me  the 
reason  lies  mainly  in  the  fact  that  I  am  fool- 
ish enough  to  measure  others  by  the  standard 
which  I  have  myself  set.  I  am  well  disposed 
toward  him,  however,  and  I  consider  him 
eminently  adapted  for  the  profession  which  he 
is  about  to  adopt." 

He  held  out  his  sacred  snuffbox  to  me  as 
he  spoke,  as  a  solemn  pledge  of  his  good 


THE   END. 


4OI 


will,  and,  as  I  look  back  at  him,  there  is  no 
moment  at  which  I  see  him  more  plainly 
than  that,  with  the  old  mischievous  light  danc- 
ing once  more  in  his  large,  intolerant  eyes,  one 
thumb  in  the  armpit  of  his  vest  and  the  little 
shining  box  held  out  upon  his  snow-white  palm. 
He  was  a  type  and  leader  of  a  strange  breed 
of  men  which  has  vanished  away  from  Eng- 
land, the  full-blooded,  virile  buck,  exquisite  in 
his  dress,  narrow  in  his  thoughts,  coarse  in 
his  amusements,  and  eccentric  in  his  habits. 
They  walk  across  the  bright  stage  of  English 
history  with  their  finicky  step,  their  prepos- 
terous cravats,  their  high  collars,  their  dan- 
gling seals,  and  they  vanish  into  those  dark 
wings  from  which  there  is  no  return.  The 
world  has  outgrown  them,  and  there  is  no 
place  now  for  their  strange  fashions,  their 
practical  jokes  and  carefully  cultivated  eccen- 
tricities. And  yet  behind  this  outer  veiling 
of  folly  with  which  they  so  carefully  draped 
themselves  they  were  often  men  of  strong 
character  and  robust  personality. 

The  languid  loungers  of  St.  James's  were 
also  the  yachtsmen  of  the  Solent,  the  fine 
riders  of  the  shires,  and  the  hardy  fighters  in 
many  a  wayside  battle  and  many  a  morning 
frolic.  Wellington  picked  his  best  officers 


RODNEY  STONE. 

from  among  them.  They  condescended  occa- 
sionally to  poetry  or  oratory,  and  Byron, 
Charles  James  Fox,  Sheridan,  and  Castlereagh 
preserved  some  reputation  among  them  in 
spite  of  their  publicity.  I  can  not  think  how 
the  historian  of  the  future  can  hope  to  under- 
stand them  when  I  who  knew  one  of  them  so 
well,  and  bore  his  blood  in  my  veins,  could 
never  quite  tell  how  much  of  him  was  real 
and  how  much  was  due  to  the  affectations 
which  he  had  cultivated  so  long  that  they  had 
ceased  to  deserve  the  name.  Through  the 
chinks  of  that  armour  of  folly  I  have  some- 
times thought  that  I  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
a  good  and  true  man  within,  and  it  pleases 
me  to  hope  that  I  was  -right. 

It  was  destined  that  the  exciting  incidents 
of  that  day  were  even  now  not  at  an  end.  I 
had  retired  early  to  rest,  but  it  was  impossible 
for  me  to  sleep,  for  my  mind  would  turn  to 
Boy  Jim,  and  to  the  extraordinary  change  in 
his  position  and  prospects.  I  was  still  turning 
and  tossing,  when  I  heard  the  sound  of  flying 
hoofs  coming  down  the  London  road,  and  im- 
mediately afterward  the  grating  of  wheels  as 
they  pulled  up  in  front  of  the  inn.  My  win- 
dow chanced  to  be  open,  for  it  was  a  fresh 
spring  night,  and  I  heard  the  creak  of  the 


THE   END. 


403 


inn  door,  and  a  voice  asking  whether  Sir 
Lothian  Hume  was  within.  At  the  name  I 
sprang  from  my  bed,  and  I  was  in  time  to 
see  three  men,  who  had  alighted  from  the 
carriage,  file  into  the  lighted  hall.  The  two 
horses  were  left  standing,  with  the  glare  of 
the  open  door  falling  upon  their  brown  shoul- 
ders and  patient  heads. 

Ten  minutes  may  have  passed,  and  then  I 
heard  the  clatter  of  many  steps,  and  a  knot  of 
men  came  clustering  through  the  door. 

"You  need  not  employ  violence,"  said  a  harsh, 
clear  voice.  "  On  whose  suit  is  it?  " 

"  Several  suits,  sir.  They  'eld  over  in  the 
'opes  that  you'd  pull  off  the  fight  this  mornin'. 
Total  amounts  is  twelve  thousand  pounds." 

"  Look  here,  my  man !  I  have  a  very  impor- 
tant appointment  for  seven  o'clock  to-morrow. 
I'll  give  you  fifty  pounds  if  you  will  leave  me 
until  then." 

"  Couldn't  do  it,  sir,  really.  It's  more  than 
our  places  as  sheriff's  officers  is  worth." 

In  the  yellow  glare  of  the  carriage  lamp  I  saw 
the  baronet  look  up  at  our  windows,  and  if  hatred 
could  have  killed,  his  eye  would  have  been  as 
deadly  as  his  pistol. 

"  I  can't  mount  the  carriage  unless  you  free 
my  hands,"  said  he. 


404 


RODNEY   STONE. 


"  'Old  'ard,  Bill,  for  'e  looks  wicious.  Let  go 
o'  one  arm  at  a  time  !  Ah,  would  you  then !  " 

"  Corcoran  !  Corcoran  !  "  screamed  a  voice, 
and  I  saw  a  plunge,  a  struggle,  and  one  frantic 
figure  breaking  its  way  from  the  rest.  Then 
came  a  heavy  blow,  and  down  he  fell  in  the 
middle  of  the  moonlit  road  flapping  and  jumping 
among  the  dust  like  a  trout  new  landed. 

"  He's  napped  it  this  time  !  Get  'im  by  the 
wrists,  Jim !  Now,  all  together ! "  He  was 
hoisted  up  like  a  bag  of  flour  and  fell  with  a 
brutal  thud  into  the  bottom  of  the  carriage.  The 
three  men  sprang  in  after  him,  a  whip  whistled  in 
the  darkness,  and  I  had  seen  the  last  that  I  or 
any  one  else,  save  some  charitable  visitor  to  a 
debtor's  jail,  was  ever  again  destined  to  see  of  Sir 
Lothian  Hume,  the  once  fashionable  Corinthian. 

Lord  Avon  lived  for  two  years  longer — long 
enough,  with  the  help  of  Ambrose,  to  fully  estab- 
lish his  innocence  of  the  horrible  crime  in  the 
shadow  of  which  he  had  lived  so  long.  What  he 
could  not  clear  away,  however,  was  the  effect  of 
those  years  of  morbid  and  unnatural  life  spent  in 
the  hidden  chambers  of  the  old  house,  and  it  was 
only  the  devotion  of  his  wife  and  of  his  son  which 
kept  the  thin  and  flickering  flame  of  his  life  so 
long  alight.  She  whom  I  had  known  as  the  play 
actress  of  Anstey  Cross  became  the  dowager  Lady 


THE   END.  405 

Avon,  while  Boy  Jim,  as  dear  to  me  now  as  when 
we  harried  birds'  nests  and  tickled  trout  together, 
is  now  Lord  Avon,  beloved  by  his  tenantry,  the 
finest  sportsman  and  the  most  popular  man  from 
the  north  of  The  Weald  to  the  Channel.  He  was 
married  to  the  second  daughter  of  Sir  James 
Ovington,  and  as  I  have  seen  three  of  his  grand- 
children within  the  week,  I  fancy  that  if  any  of 
Sir  Lothian's  descendants  have  their  eye  upon  the 
property  they  are  likely  to  be  as  disappointed  as 
their  ancestor  was  before  them. 

The  old  house  of  Cliffe  Royal  has  been  pulled 
down,  owing  to  the  terrible  family  associations 
which  hung  round  it,  and  a  beautiful  modern 
building  sprang  up  in  its  place.  The  lodge  which 
stood  by  the  Brighton  road  was  so  dainty  with  its 
trellis  work  and  its  rosebushes  that  I  was  not  the 
only  visitor  who  declared  that  I  had  rather  be  the 
owner  of  it  than  of  the  great  house  among  the 
trees.  There,  for  many  years,  in  a  happy  and 
peaceful  old  age,  lived  Jack  Harrison  and  his 
wife,  receiving  back  in  the  sunset  of  their  lives 
the  loving  care  which  they  had  themselves  be- 
stowed. Never  again  did  champion  Harrison 
throw  his  leg  over  the  ropes  of  a  twenty-four-foot 
ring,  but  the  story  of  the  great  battle  between  the 
smith  and  the  west  countryman  is  still  familiar  to 
old  ring-goers;  and  nothing  pleased  him  better 


406  RODNEY   STONE. 

than  to  refight  it  all,  round  by  round,  as  he  sat  in 
the  sunshine  under  his  rose-girt  porch.  But,  if 
he  heard  the  tap  of  his  wife's  stick  approaching 
him,  his  talk  would  break  off  at  once  into  the  gar- 
den  and  its  prospects,  for  she  was  still  haunted  by 
the  fear  that  he  would  some  day  go  back  to  the 
ring,  and  she  never  missed  the  old  man  for  an 
hour  without  being  convinced  that  he  had  hobbled 
off  to  wrest  the  belt  from  the  latest  upstart  cham- 
pion. It  was  at  his  own  very  earnest  request 
that  they  inscribed  "  He  fought  the  good  fight " 
upon  his  tombstone,  and  though  I  can  not  doubt 
that  he  had  Black  Baruk  and  Crab  Wilson  in  his 
mind  when  he  asked  it,  yet  none  who  knew  him 
would  grudge  its  spiritual  meaning  as  a  summing 
up  of  his  clean  and  manly  life. 

Sir  Charles  Tregellis  continued  for  some 
years  to  show  his  scarlet  and  gold  at  New- 
market and  his  inimitable  coats  in  St.  James's. 
It  was  he  who  invented  buttons  and  loops  at 
the  ends  of  dress  pantaloons,  and  who  broke 
fresh  ground  by  his  investigation  of  the  com- 
parative merits  of  isinglass  and  of  starch  in 
the  preparation  of  shirt  fronts.  There  nre  old 
fops  still  lurking  in  the  corners  of  Arthur's 
or  of  White's  who  can  remember  Tregellis's 
dictum  that  a  cravat  should  be  so  stiffened 
that  three  parts  of  the  length  should  be  raised 


THE   END. 


407 


by  one  corner,  and  the  painful  schism  which 
followed  when  Lord  Alvanley  and  his  school 
contended  that  a  half  was  sufficient. 

Then  came  the  supremacy  of  Brummel  and 
the  open  breach  upon  the  subject  of  velvet 
collars  in  which  the  town  followed  the  lead 
of  the  younger  man.  My  uncle,  who  was  not 
born  to  be  second  to  any  one,  retired  instantly 
to  St.  Albans,  and  announced  that  he  would 
make  it  the  centre  of  fashion  and  of  society 
instead  of  degenerate  London.  It  chanced, 
however,  that  the  mayor  and  corporation 
waited  upon  him  with  an  address  of  thanks 
for  his  good  intentions  toward  the  town,  and 
that  the  burgesses,  having  ordered  new  coats 
from  London  for  the  occasion,  were  all  arrayed 
in  velvet  collars,  which  so  preyed  upon  my 
uncle's  spirits  that  he  took  to  his  bed,  and 
never  showed  his  face  in  public  again.  His 
money,  which  had  ruined  what  might  have 
been  a  great  life,  was  divided  among  many 
bequests,  an  annuity  to  his  valet,  Ambrose, 
being  among  them,  but  enough  has  come  to 
his  sister,  my  dear  mother,  to  help  to  make 
her  old  age  as  sunny  and  as  pleasant  as  even 
I  could  wish. 

And  as  for  me — the  poor  string  upon  which 

these    beads   are   strung — I    dare   scarce   say  an- 
27 


4o8  RODNEY   STONE. 

other  word  about  myself  lest  this  which  I  had 
meant  to  be  the  last  word  of  a  chapter  should 
grow  into  the  first  words  of  a  new  one.  Had 
I  not  taken  up  my  pen  to  tell  you  a  story  of 
the  land  I  might  perchance  have  made  a  bet- 
ter one  of  the  sea,  but  the  one  frame  can  not 
hold  two  opposite  pictures.  The  day  may 
come  when  I  shall  write  down  all  that  I  re- 
member of  the  greatest  battle  ever  fought 
upon  salt  water,  and  how  my  father's  gallant 
life  was  brought  to  an  end  as  with  his  paint 
rubbing  against  a  French  eighty-gun  ship  on 
one  side  and  a  Spanish  seventy-four  upon  the 
other,  he  stood  eating  an  apple  in  the  break 
of  his  poop.  I  saw  the  smoke  banks  on  that 
October  evening  swirl  slowly  up  over  the  At- 
lantic swell  and  rise  and  rise  until  they  had 
shredded  into  thinnest  air  and  lost  themselves 
in  the  infinite  blue  of  heaven.  And  with  them 
rose  the  cloud  which  had  hung  over  our  coun- 
try, and  it  also  thinned  and  thinned  until  God's 
own  sun  of  peace  and  security  was  shining  once 
more  upon  us,  never  more  we  hope  to  be  be- 
dimmed. 

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book."  —  Boston  Budget. 

"  Every  page  is  alive  with  incidents  or  scenes  of  the  time,  and  any  one  who  reads 
it  will  get  a  vivid  picture  that  can  never  be  forgotten  of  the  Reign  of  Terror  in  Paris." 
—  San  Francisco  Chronicle. 


GODS,  SOME  MORTALS,  AND  LORD 
W1CKENHAM.  By  JOHN  OLIVER  HOBBES.  With  Portrait. 
I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Mrs.  Craigie  has  taken  her  place  among  the  novelists  of  the  day.  It  is  a  high 
place  and  a  place  apart.  Her  method  is  her  own,  and  she  stands  not  exactly  on  the 
threshold  of  a  great  career,  but  already  within  the  temple  of  fame."  —  G.  W.  Smalley, 
in  the  Tribune. 

"  Here  is  the  sweetness  of  a  live  love  story.  ...  It  is  to  be  reckoned  among  the 
brilliants  as  a  novel."  —  Boston  Courier. 

"  One  of  the  most  refreshing  novels  of  the  period,  full  of  grace,  spirit,  force,  feeling, 
and  literary  charm."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  Clever  and  cynical,  full  of  epigrams  and  wit,  bright  with  keen  delineations  of 
character,  and  with  a  shrewd  insight  into  life."  —  Newark  Advertiser. 

"A  novel  of  profound  psychological  knowledge  and  ethical  import  .  .  .  Worthy 
of  high  rank  in  current  fiction."  —  Boston  Beacon. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


Y 


D.   APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


EKL.  A  Tale  of  the  New  York  Ghetto.  By  A.  CAHAN. 
Uniform  with  "  The  Red  Badge  of  Courage."  I2mo.  Cloth, 
$1.00. 

"  A  new  and  striking  tale ;  the  charm,  the  verity,  the  literary  quality  of  the  book  de- 
pend upon  its  study  of  character,  its  'local  color,"  its  revelation  to  Americans  of  a  social 
state  at  their  very  doors  of  which  they  have  known  nothing."— New  York  Times. 

"The  story  is  a  revelation  to  us.  It  is  written  in  a  spirited,  breezy  way,  with  an 
originality  in  the  telling  of  which  is  quite  unexpected.  The  dialect  is  striking  in  its 
truth  to  Nature." — Boston  Courier. 

"Is  in  all  probability  the  only  true  picture  we  have  yet  had  of  that  most  densely 
populated  spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth— the  ghetto  of  the  metropolis,  rather  the  me- 
tropolis of  the  ghettos  of  the  world." — New  York  Journal. 

"A  series  of  vivid  pictures  of  a  strange  people.  .  .  .  The  people  and  their  social  life 
the  author  depicts  with  marvelous  success." — Boston  Transcript. 

"  The  reader  will  become  deeply  interested  in  Mr.  Cahan's  graphic  presentation  of 
ghetto  life  in  New  York." — Minneapolis  Journal. 

"A  strong,  quaint  story." — Detroit  Tribune. 

"  Every  feature  of  the  book  bears  the  stamp  of  truth.  .  .  .  Undoubtedly  'Yekl' 
has  never  been  excelled  as  a  picture  of  the  distinctive  life  of  the  New  York  ghetto." — 
Boston  Herald. 


T 


HE  SENTIMENTAL  SEX.  By  GERTRUDE  WAR- 
DEN.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

"  The  cleverest  book  by  a  woman  that  has  been  published  for  months.  .  .  .  Such 
books  as  'The  Sentimental  Sex"  are  exemplars  of  a  modern  cult  that  will  not  be 
ignored." — New  York  Commercial  Advertiser. 

"There  is  a  well-wrought  mystery  in  the  story  and  some  surprises  that  preserve 
the  reader's  interest,  and  render  it,  when  all  is  said,  a  story  of  considerable  charm." — 
Boston  Courier. 

"  An  uncommonly  knowing  little  book,  which  keeps  a  good  grip  on  the  reader  up  to 
the  last  page.  .  .  .  The  author's  method  of  handling  the  plot  is  adroit  and  original." — 
Rochester  Herald. 

"Miss  Warden  has  worked  out  her  contrasts  very  strikingly,  and  tells  her  story 
in  a  cleverly  flippant  way,  which  keeps  the  reader  on  the  qui  vive  for  the  cynical  but 
bright  sayings  she  has  interspersed." — Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  The  story  forms  an  admirable  study.  The  style  is  graphic,  the  plot  original  and 
cleverly  wrought  out." — I'hiladelphia  Evening  Bulletin. 


New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.  APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


BY    S.   R.   CROCKETT. 
f^LEG    KELLY,   ARAB    OF    THE    CITY.      His 

^~x  Progress  and  Adventures.  Uniform  with  "  The  Lilac  Sunbon- 
net"  and  "Bog-Myrtle  and  Peat."  Illustrated.  I2mo.  Cloth, 
$1.50. 

"  A  masterpiece  which  Mark  Twain  himself  has  never  rivaled.  ...  If  there  ever 
was  an  ideal  character  in  fiction  it  is  this  heroic  ragamuffin." — London  Daily 
Chronicle. 

"  In  no  one  of  his  books  does  Mr.  Crockett  give  us  a  brighter  or  more  graphic 

Cure  of  contemporary  Scotch  life  than  in  'Cleg  Kelly.'  ...  It  is  one  of  the  great 
ks." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"One  of  the  most  successful  of  Mr.  Crockett's  works."— Brooklyn  Eagle. 


B 


OG-MYRTLE    AND    PEAT.      Third     edition. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 


"  Here  are  idyls,  epics,  dramas  of  human  life,  written  in  words  that  thrill  and 
burn.  .  .  .  Each  is  a  poem  that  has  an  immoital  flavor.  They  are  fragments  of 
the  author's  early  dreams,  too  bright,  too  gorgeous,  too  full  of  the  blood  of  rubies 
and  the  life  of  diamonds  to  be  caught  and  held  palpitating  in  expression's  grasp." 
— Boston  Courier. 

"  Hardly  a  sketch  among  them  all  that  will  not  afford  pleasure  to  the  reader  for 
its  genial  humor,  artistic  local  coloring,  and  admirable  portrayal  of  character." — 
Boston  Home  Journal. 

"One  dips  into  the  book  anywhere  and  reads  on  and  on,  fascinated  by  the  writer's 
charm  of  manner." — Minneapolis  Tribune. 


T 


HE     LILAC     SUNBONNET.       Sixth    edition. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 


New  York :    D.  APPLETON   &  CO.,  72  Filth  Avenue. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 
Miss  F.  F.  MONTRF.SOR'5   BOOKS. 

PALSE   COIN  OR   TRUE?     izmo.     cioth, 
•*     $1.25. 

"One  of  the  few  true  novels  of  the  day.  ...  It  is  powerful,  and  touched  with  a 
delicate  insight  and  strong  impressions  of  life  and  character.  .  .  .  Ihe  author's  theme 
is  original,  her  treatment  artistic,  and  the  book  is  remarkable  for  its  unflagging 
interest"  —  Philadelphia  Record. 

"The  tale  never  flags  in  interest,  and  once  taken  up  will  not  be  laid  down  until  the 
last  page  is  finished."  —  Boston  Budget. 

"A  well-  written  novel,  with  well-depicted  characters  and  well-chosen  scenes."  — 
Chicago  News. 

"A  sweet,  tender,  pure,  and  lovely  story."  —  Buffalo  Commercial. 


ONE  WHO  LOOKED   ON.     121110.     Cloth, 
$1.25. 

"A  tale  quite  unusual,  entirely  unlike  any  other,  full  of  a  strange  power  and  real- 
ism, and  touched  with  a  fine  humor."  —  London  World. 

"One  of  the  most  remarkable  and  powerful  of  the  year's  contributions,  worthy  to 
stand  with  Ian  Maclaren's."  —  British  Weekly. 

"  One  of  the  rare  books  which  can  be  read  with  great  pleasure  and  recommended 
without  reservation.  It  is  fresh,  pure,  sweet,  and  pathetic,  with  a  pathos  which  is  per- 
fectly wholesome."  —  St.  Paul  Globe. 

"The  story  is  an  intensely  human  one,  and  it  is  delightful!  v  told.  .  .  .  The  author 
shows  a  marvelous  keenness  in  character  analysis,  and  a  marked  ingenuity  in  the  de- 
velopment of  her  story."  —  Boston  Advertiser. 


I 


'NTO     THE     HIGHWAYS     AND     HEDGES. 

I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

'_'  A  touch  of  idealism,  of  nobility  of  thought  and  purpose,  mingled  with  an  air  of 
reality  and  well-chosen  expression,  are  the  most  notable  features  of  a  book  that  has  not 
the  ordinary  defects  of  such  qualities.  With  all  its  elevation  of  utterance  and  spirit- 
uality of  outjook  and  insight  it  is  wonderfully  free  from  overstrained  or  exaggerated 
matter,  and  it  has  glimpses  of  humor.  Most  of  the  characters  are  vivid,  yet  there  are 
restraint  and  sobriety  in  their  treatment,  and  almost  all  arc  carefully  and  consistently 
evolved." — London  Athenttum. 


"'Into  the  Highways  and  Hedees'  is  a  book  not  of  promise  only,  but  of  high 
achievement.  It  is  original,  powerful,  artistic,  humorous.  It  places  the  author  at  a 
bound  in  the  rank  of  those  artists  to  whom  we  look  for  the  skillful  presentation  of  strong 
personal  impressions  of  life  and  character." — London  Daily  News. 

"The  pure  idealism  of  '  Into  the  Highways  and  Hedges'  does  much  to  redeem 
modern  fiction  from  the  reproach  it  has  brought  upon  itself.  .  .  .  The  story  is  original, 
and  told  with  great  refinement." — Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 


New  York :   D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.   APPLETON  &   CO.'S   PUBLICATIONS. 

A  better  book  than  'The  Prisoner  of  Zenda.'  "—  London  Queen. 

E   CHRONICLES   OF  COUNT  ANTONIO. 

By  ANTHONY  HOPE,  author  of  "  The  God  in  the  Car,"  "  The 
Prisoner  of  Zenda,"  etc.  With  photogravure  Frontispiece  by 
S.  W.  Van  Schaick.  Third  edition.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  recounting  than  are  those  of  Antonio  of 
Monte  Velluto,  a  very  Bayard  among  outlaws.  .  .  .  To  all  those  whose  pulses  still  stir 
at  the  recital  of  deeds  of  high  courage,  we  may  recommend  this  book.  .  .  .  The  chron- 
icle conveys  the  emotion  of  heroic  adventure,  and  is  picturesquely  written." — London 
Daily  News. 

"  It  has  literary  merits  all  its  own,  of  a  deliberate  and  rather  deep  order.  ...  In 
point  of  execution  '  The  Chronicles  of  Count  Antonio  '  is  the  best  work  that  Mr.  Hope 
has  yet  done.  The  design  is  clearer,  the  workmanship  more  elaborate,  the  style  more 
colored.  .  .  .  The  incidents  are  most  ingenious,  they  are  told  quietly,  but  with  great 
cunning,  and  the  Quixotic  sentiment  which  pervades  it  all  is  exceedingly  pleasant."— 
Westminster  Gazette. 

"A  romance  worthy  of  all  the  expectations  raised  by  the  brilliancy  of  his  former 
books,  and  likely  to  be  read  with  a  keen  enjoyment  and  a  healthy  exaltation  of  the 
spirits  by  every  one  who  takes  it  up." — The  Scotsman. 

"A  gallant  tale,  written  with  unfailing  freshness  and  spirit." — London  Daily 
Telegraph. 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  romances  written  in  English  within  many  days.  The 
quaint  simplicity  of  its  st>  le  is  delightful,  and  the  adventures  recorded  in  these  '  Chron- 
icles of  Count  Antonio '  are  as  stirring  and  ingenious  as  any  conceived  even  by  Wey- 
man  at  his  best." — Neiv  York  World.  , 

"Romance  of  the  real  flavor,  wholly  and  entirely  romance,  and  narrated  in  true  ro- 
mantic style.  The  characters,  drawn  with  such  masterly  handling,  are  not  merely  pic- 
tures and  portraits,  but  statues  that  are  alive  and  step  boldly  forward  from  the  canvas." 
— Boston  Courier. 

"  Told  in  a  wonderfully  simple  and  direct  style,  and  with  the  magic  touch  of  a  man 
who  has  the  genius  of  narrative,  making  the  varied  incidents  flow  naturally  and  rapidly 
in  a  stream  of  sparkling  discourse." — Detroit  Tribune. 

"  Easily  ranks  with,  if  not  above,  '  A  Prisoner  of  Zenda.'  .  .  .  Wonderfully  strong, 
graphic,  and  compels  the  interest  of  the  most  blast  novel  reader." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"  No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  telling  than  those  of  Count  Antonio.  .  .  . 
The  author  knows  full  well  how  to  make  every  pulse  thrill,  and  how  to  hold  his  readers 
under  the  spell  of  his  magic." — Boston  Herald. 

"  A  book  to  make  women  weep  proud  tears,  and  the  blood  of  men  to  tingle  with 
knightly  fervor.  ...  In  '  Count  Antonio '  we  think  Mr.  Hope  surpasses  himself,  as  ha 
has  already  surpassed  all  the  other  story-tellers  of  the  period." — New  York  Spirit  oj 
the  Times.  

New  York  :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

NOVELS   BY    HALL   CAINE. 
MANXMAN.     121110.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"A  story  of  marvelous  dramatic  intensity,  and  in  its  ethical  meaning  has  a  force 
comparable  only  to  Hawthorne's  '  Scarlet  Letter.'  "—Boston  Beacon. 

"A  work  of  power  which  is  another  stone  added  to  the  foundation  of  enduring  fame 
to  which  Mr.  Caine  is  yearly  adding."— public  Opinion. 

"A  wonderfully  strong  study  of  character;  a  powerful  analysis  of  those  elements 
which  go  to  make  up  the  strength  and  weakness  of  a  man,  which  are  at  fierce  warfare 
within  the  same  breast;  contending  against  each  other,  as  it  were,  the  one  to  raise  him 
to  fame  and  power,  the  other  to  drag  him  down  10  degradation  and  shame.  Never  in 
the  whole  range  of  literature  have  we  seen  the  struggle  between  these  forces  for 
supremacy  over  the  man  more  powerfully,  more  realistically  delineated  than  Mr.  Caine 
pictures  it." — Boston  Home  Journal. 


T 


HE    DEEMSTER.      A     Romance   of  the   Isle    of 
Man.     I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Hall  Caine  has  already  given  us  some  very  strong  and  fine  work,  and  '  The 
Deemster"  is  a  story  of  unusual  power.  .  .  .  Certain  pnssapes  and  chapters  have  an 
intensely  dramatic  grasp,  and  hold  the  fascinated  reader  with  a  force  rarely  excited 
nowadays  in  literature.  ' — The  Critic. 

"  One  of  the  strongest  novels  which  has  appeared  in  many  a  day." — San  Fran- 
cisco Chronicle. 

"  Fascinates  the  mind  like  the  gathering  and  bursting  of  a  storm." — Illustrated 
London  News. 

"Deserves  to  be  ranked  among  the  remarkable  novels  of  the  day." — Chicago 
Times. 


BONDMAN.     New  edition.     12010.     Cloth, 
$1.50. 

"  The  welcome  given  to  this  story  has  cheered  and  touched  me,  but  I  am  con- 
scious that,  to  win  a  reception  so  warm,  such  a  book  must  have  had  readers  who 
brought  to  it  as  much  as  they  took  away.  ...  I  have  called  my  story  a  saga,  merely 
because  it  follows  the  epic  method,  and  I  must  not  claim  for  it  at  any  point  the  weighty 
responsibility  of  history,  or  serious  obligations  to  the  world  of  fact.  But  it  matters  not 
to  me  what  Icelanders  may  call  '  The  Pondrran,'  if  tiiey  will  honor  me  by  reading  it  in 
the  open  hearted  spirit  and  with  the  free  mind  with  which  they  are  content  to  read  of 
Grettir  and  of  his  fights  with  the  Troll."— J*'tom  the  Author's  Preface, 

(^APT'N    DAVY'S    HONEYMOON.      A    Manx 

^•"'      Yarn.     I2mo.     Paper,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  A  new  departure  by  this  author.  Unlike  his  previous  works,  this  little  tale  is 
almost  wholly  humorous,  with,  however,  a  current  of  pathos  underneath.  It  is  not 
i: way?  that  an  author  can  succeed  equally  well  in  tragedy  and  in  comedy,  but  it  looks 
as  though  Mr.  Hall  Caine  would  be  one  of  the  exceptions." — London  Literary 
World. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  meet  the  author  of  '  The  Dfrmster '  in  a  brightly  humorous  little 
story  like  this.  ...  It  shows  the  same  observation  of  Manx  character,  and  much  of 
the  same  artistic  skill." — Philadelphia  Times. 

New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

NOVELS  BY  MAARTEN  MAARTENS. 

GREATER  GLORY.  A  Story  of  High  Life. 
By  MAARTEN  MAARTENS,  author  of  "  God's  Fool,"  "  Joost 
Avelingh,"  etc.  I2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"Until  the  Appletons  discovered  the  merits  of  Maarten  Maartens,  the  foremost  oi' 
Dutch  novelists,  it  is  "doubtful  if  many  American  readers  knew  that  there  were  Duuh 
novelists.  His  '  God's  Fool '  and  'Joost  Avelingh  '  made  for  him  an  American  reputa- 
tion. To  our  mind  this  just  published  work  of  his  is  his  best.  .  .  .  He  is  a  master  of 
epigram,  an  artist  in  description,  a  prophet  in  insight." — Boston  Advertiser. 

"  It  would  take  several  columns  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of  the  superb  way  in 
which  the  Dutch  novelist  has  developed  his  theme  and  wrought  out  one  of  the  most 
impressive  stories  of  the  period.  ...  It  belongs  to  the  small  class  of  novels  which 
one  can  not  afford  to  neglect." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

"  Maarten  Maartens  stands  head  and  shoulders  above  the  average  novelist  of  the 
day  in  intellectual  subtlety  and  imaginative  power." — Boston  Beacon. 


FOOL.     By  MAARTEN    MAARTENS.      i2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  Throughout  there  is  an  epigrammatic  force  which  would  make  palatable  a  less 
interesting  story  of  human  lives  or  one  less  deftly  told." — London  Saturday  Review. 

"  Perfectly  easy,  graceful,  humorous.  .  .  .  The  author's  skill  in  character-drawing 
is  undeniable." — London  Chronicle. 

"  A  remarkable  work." — New  York  Times. 

"Maarten  Maartens  has  secured  a  firm  footing  in  the  eddies  of  current  literature.  . 
.  .  .  Pathos  deepens  into  tragedy  in  the  thrilling  story  of  '  God's  Fool.' " — Philadel- 
phia Ledger. 

"  Its  preface  alone  stamps  the  author  as  one  of  the  leading  English  novelists  of 
to-day." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"The  story  is  wonderfully  brilliant.  .  .  .  The  interest  never  lags;  the  style  is 
realistic  and  intense;  and  there  is  a  constantly  underlying  current  of  subtle  humor. 
.  .  .  It  is,  in  short,  a  book  which  no  student  of  modern  literature  should  fail  to  read." 
— Boston  Times. 

"  A  story  of  remarkable  interest  and  point." — New  York  Observer, 

'OOST  AVELTNGH.      By  MAARTEN    MAARTENS. 

I2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"So  unmistakably  good  as  to  induce  the  hor>e  that  an  acquaintance  with  the  Dutch 
literature  of  fiction  may  soon  become  more  general  among  us." — London  Morning 
Post. 

"  In  scarcely  any  of  the  sensational  novels  of  the  day  will  the  reader  find  more 
nature  or  more  human  nature." — London  Standard. 

"  A  novel  of  a  very  high  type.  At  once  strongly  realistic  and  powerfully  ideal- 
istic."— London  Literary  World. 

"  Full  of  local  color  and  rich  in  quaint  phraseology  and  suggestion." — London 
telegraph. 

"  Maarten  Maartens  is  a  capital  story-teller." — Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"Our  English  writers  of  fiction  will  have  to  look  to  their  laurels." — Birmingham 
Daily  Post. 

New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  CO..  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

THE   STORY  OF  THE  WEST  SERIES. 
Edited  by  Ripley  Hitchcock. 

"There  is  a  v.ist  extent  of  territory  lying  between  the  Missouri  River  and  the  Pacific 
coast  which  has  barely  been  skimmed  over  so  far.  That  the  conditions  of  life  therein 
are  undergoing  changes  little  short  of  marvelous  will  be  understood  when  one  recalls 
the  fact  that  the  first  white  male  child  born  in  Kansas  is  still  living  there;  and  Kansas 
is  by  no  means  one  of  the  newer  States.  Revolutionary  indeed  has  been  the  upturning 
of  the  old  condiiion  of  affairs,  and  little  remains  thereof,  and  less  will  remain  as  each 
year  goes  by,  until  presently  there  will  be  only  tradition  of  the  Sioux  and  Comanchcs, 
the  cowboy  life,  the  wild  horse,  and  the  antelope.  Histories,  many  of  them,  have  been 
written  about  the  Western  country  alluded  to,  but  most  if  not  practically  all  by  outsiders 
who  knew  not  personally  that  life  of  kaleidoscopic  allurement.  But  ere  it  shall  lave 
vanished  forever  we  are  likely  to  have  truthful,  complete,  and  charming  portrayals  of 
it  produced  by  men  who  actually  knew  the  life  and  have  the  power  to  describe  it." — 
Henry  Edward  Rood,  in  the  Mail  and  Express. 

NOW  READY. 

HE  STORY  OF  THE  INDIAN.  By  GEORGE 
BIRD  GRINNELL,  author  of  "  Pawnee  Hero  Stories,"  "  Blackfoot 
Lodge  Tales,"  etc.  i2mo.  Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  In  every  way  worthy  of  an  author  who,  as  an  authoiity  upon  the  Western  Indians, 
is  second  to  none.  A  took  full  of  color,  abounding  in  observation,  and  remarkable  in 
sustained  interest,  it  is  at  the  same  time  characterized  by  a  grace  of  style  which  is  rarely 
to  be  looked  for  in  such  a  work,  and  which  adds  not  a  little  to  the  charm  of  it." — Lon- 
don Daily  Chronicle. 

"  Only  an  author  qualified  by  persons!  experience  could  offer  us  a  profitable  study 
of  a  race  so  alien  from  our  own  as  is  the  Indian  in  thought,  feeling,  and  culture  Only 
long  association  with  Indians  can  enable  a  white  man  measurably  to  comprehend  their 
thoughts  and  enter  into  their  feelings.  Such  association  has  been  Mr.  Grinnell's.— 
Neiu  York  Sun. 


T 


T 


HE   STORY   OF    THE    MINE.     By  CHARLES 
HOWARD  SHINN.     Illustrated,     isrno.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

The  figures  of  the  prospector  and  the  miner  are  clearly  outlined  in  the 
course  of  the  romantic  story  of  that  mine  which  more  than  any  other  em- 
bodies the  romance,  the  vicissitudes,  the  triumphs,  the  excitement,  and  the 
science  of  mining  life — the  Great  Comslock  Lode.  From  the  prospector, 
through  development  and  deep-mining,  to  the  last  of  the  stock  gambling, 
the  story  is  told  in  a  way  that  presents  a  singularly  vivid  and  engrossing 
picture  of  a  life  which  has  played  so  large  a  part  in  the  development  of 
the  remoter  West. 

IN  PREPARATION. 

The  Story  of  the  Trapper.    By  GILBERT  PARKER. 

The  Story  of  the  Cowboy.    By  E.  HOUGH. 

The  Story  of  the  Soldier.    By  Capt.  J.  McB.  STEMBEL,  U.  S.  A. 

The  Story  of  the  Explorer. 

The  Story  of  the  Railroad. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.  APPLETON  &   CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

rHE  BEGINNERS  OF  A  NATION.  A  History 
of  the  Source  and  Rise  of  the  Eailiest  English  Settlements  in 
America,  with  Special  Reference  to  the  Life  and  Character  of 
the  People.  The  first  volume  in  A  History  of  Life  in  the 
United  States.  By  EDWARD  EGGLESTON.  Small  8vo.  Cloth, 
gilt  top,  uncut,  with  Maps,  $1.50. 

It  is  nearly  seventeen  years  since  the  studies  for  this  book  were  begun. 
In  January,  1880,  having  decided  to  write  a  History  of  Life  in  the  United 
States,  Mr.  Eggleston  employed  himself  during  convalescence  in  seeking 
books  bearing  on  the  subject  on  all  the  quays  of  Paris.  From  that  begin- 
ning has  grown  the  large  and  valuable  collection  of  many  thousand  books 
relating  to  American  history,  and  to  social,  industrial,  and  intellectual  life 
generally  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  which  fill  the  walls 
of  a  stone  library  building  on  Lake  George.  Mr.  Eggleston  has  produced, 
in  the  years  since  that  beginning  was  made,  two  novels  and  several  school- 
books  on  American  history,  now  widely  used  ;  but  eleven  of  the  last  seven- 
teen years  have  been  wholly  given  up  to  investigations  and  studies  which 
find  their  first  permanent  result  in  the  present  volume.  Thirteen  articles  en 
Colonial  Life  were  contributed  to  the  Century  Magazine  by  the  author  be- 
tween 1882  and  1889.  They  were  recognized  at  once  as  authority  on  the 
subject,  were  quoted  in  learned  works,  were  discussed  by  at  least  one  scholar 
in  a  German  periodical,  were  placed  in  class  libraries  in  leading  institutions 
of  learning,  and  were  cited  by  a  well-known  professor  as  ' '  the  only  author- 
ity on  colonial  life  to  be  depended  on."  Mr.  Eggleston  was  importuned  to 
gather  them  into  a  book,  but  his  project  had  grown  with  his  knowledge  of 
the  subject,  and  he  has  given  himself  of  late  years  to  produce  on  an  entirely 
new  plan  the  first  of  a  series  of  volumes,  each  to  be  complete  in  itself,  which 
as  a  whole  shall  represent  the  life  of  the  people  of  the  United  States  in  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  In  order  to  do  this,  it  has  been  neces- 
sary not  only  to  prosecute  studies  in  most  of  the  great  public  libraries  of  this 
country,  but  also  to  make  repeated  sojourns  in  Europe  for  the  purpose  of 
investigations  in  the  British  Museum  and  the  State  Paper  Department  of  the 
Record  Office,  and  the  French  National  Library.  Mr.  Eggleston  gained 
access  also  to  papers  not  before  used  in  private  repositories  in  England  and 
America.  To  get  local  color  and  additional  information,  he  has  visited  all 
.of  the  original  thirteen  colonies.  The  first  installment  of  this  historical  series 
is  thus  the  ripe  fruit  of  many  years  of  tireless  investigation.  The  book  has 
been  wrought  out  and  thought  out  thoroughly,  and  the  initial  stage  of  United 
States  history  is  presented  here  in  a  light  strangely  different  from  that  to 
which  readers  of  history  have  been  accustomed. 


New  York :  D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


D.  APPLETON  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 


T  TNCLE  REMUS.  His  Songs  and  his  Sayings.  By 
JOEL  CHANDLER  HARRIS.  With  new  Preface  and  Revisions, 
and  112  Illustrations  by  A.  B.  Frost.  Library  Edition.  i2mo. 
Buckram,  gilt  top,  uncut,  $2.00.  Also,  Edition  de  luxe  of  the 
above,  limited  to  250  copies,  each  signed  by  the  author,  with 
the  full-page  cuts  mounted  on  India  paper.  8vo.  White  vel- 
him,  gilt  top,  $10.00. 

"  The  old  tales  of  the  plantation  have  never  been  told  as  Mr.  Harris  has  told  them. 
Each  narrative  is  to  the  point,  and  so  swift  in  its  action  upon  the  risibilities  of  the 
reader  that  one  almost  loses  consciousness  of  the  printed  page,  and  fancies  it  is  the 
voice  of  the  lovable  old  darky  himself  that  steals  across  the  senses  and  brings  mirth 
inextinguishable  as  it  comes;  .  .  .  and  Mr.  Frost's  drawings  are  so  supeilativelygood, 
so  inexpressibly  funny,  that  they  promise  to  make  this  the  standard  edition  of  a  stand- 
ard book."  —  New  York  Tribune. 

"An  exquisite  volume,  full  of  good  illustrations,  rnd  if  tl>cre  is  anybody  in  this 
country  who  doesn't  know  Mr.  Harris,  here  is  an  opj  ortunity  to  make  his  acquaint- 
ance and  have  many  a  good  laugh."  —  New  York  Herald. 

"  There  is  but  one  '  Uncle  Remus,'  and  he  will  never  grow  old.  ...  It  was  a 
happy  thought,  that  of  marrying  the  work  of  Harris  and  Frost."  —  Neiu  York  Mail 
and  Express. 

"  Nobody  could  possibly  have  done  this  work  better  than  Mr.  Frost,  whose  appre-     / 
ciation  of  negro  life  fitted  him  especially  to  be  tlie  interfreter  of  Uncle  Remus,'  and    / 
whose  sense  of  the  humor  in  animal  life  makes  these  drawings  really  illustrations  in  the  7^, 
fullest  sense.     Mr.  Harris's  well-known   work  has  become  in  a  sense  a  classic,  and  this 
may  be  accepted  as  the  standard  edition.  "  —  Philadelphia  Times. 

"A  book  which  b-came  a  classic  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  published.  .  .  .  Mr.  Frost 
has  never  done  anything  better  in  the  way  of  illustration,  if  indeed  he  has  done  any- 
thing as  good."  —  Boston  Advertiser. 

"  We  pity  the  reader  who  has  not  yet  made  the  acquaintance  of  '  Uncle  Remus  ' 
and  his  charming  story.  .  .  .  Mr.  Harris  has  made  a  real  addition  to  literature  purely 
and  strikingly  American,  and  Mr.  Frost  has  aided  in  fixing  the  work  indelibly  on  the 
consciousness  of  the  American  reader."  —  The  Churchman. 

"  The  old  fancies  of  the  old  negro,  dear  as  they  may  have  been  to  us  these  many 
years,  seem  to  gain  new  life  when  they  appear  through  the  medium  of  Mr.  Frost's 
imagination."  —  New  York  Home  Journal. 


"  We  say  it  with  the  utmost  faith  that  there  is  not  an  artist  who  works  in  illustra- 


New  York :   D.  APPLETON   &   CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


83RECCL 


Book  Slip-35m-7,'63(D8634s4)4280 


UCLA-College  Library 

PR  4622  R61 


L  005  681   900  6 


College 
Library 

PR 

4622 

R61 


RRARY  FACILITY 


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